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THE 


GOLDEN    L  E  G  E  X  D 


IIEXRY  WADSWORTH  LOXGFELLOW. 


n 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR,    REED,    AND    FIELDS 


X  OCCC  LII. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 

H.  W.  LONGFELLOW, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE  :     METCALF  AND   COMPANY. 


PROLOGUE 


THE    SPIRE    OF    STRASBURG    CATHEDRAL. 


Night  and  storm.     LUCIFER,  with  the  Powers  of  the  Air, 
trying  to  tear  down  the  Cross. 

LUCIFER. 

HASTEN!  hasten! 

O  ye  spirits ! 

From  its  station  drag  the  ponderous 

Cross  of  iron,  that  to  mock  us 

Is  uplifted  high  in  air ! 

VOICES. 

O,  we  cannot ! 

For  around  it 

All  the  Saints  and  Guardian  Angels 

Throng  in  legions  to  protect  it ; 

They  defeat  us  everywhere ! 


4  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

THE  BELLS. 

Laudo  Deum  verum ! 
Plebem  voco ! 
Congrego  clerum ! 

LUCIFER. 

Lower!  lower! 

Hover  downward ! 

Seize  the  loud,  vociferous  bells,  and 

Clashing,  clanging,  to  the  pavement 

Hurl  them  from  their  windy  tower ! 

VOICES. 

All  thy  thunders 
Here  are  harmless ! 
For  these  bells  have  been  anointed, 
And  baptized  with  holy  water ! 
They  defy  our  utmost  power. 

THE    BELLS. 

Defunctos  ploro ! 
Pestem  fugo ! 
Festa  decoro ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 
LUCIFER. 

Shake  the  casements! 

Break  the  painted 

Panes,  that  flame  with  gold  and  crimson ; 

Scatter  them  like  leaves  of  Autumn, 

Swept  away  before  the  blast ! 

VOICES. 

O,  we  cannot ! 
The  Archangel 

Michael  flames  from  every  window, 
With  the  sword  of  fire  that  drove  us 
Headlong,  out  of  heaven,  aghast ! 

THE    BELLS. 

Funera  plango ! 
Fulgora  frango ! 
Sabbata  pango ! 

LUCIFER. 

Aim  your  lightnings 

At  the  oaken, 

Massive,  iron-studded  portals! 


6  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Sack  the  house  of  God,  and  scatter 
Wide  the  ashes  of  the  dead ! 

VOICES. 

O,  we  cannot ! 

The  Apostles 

And  the  Martyrs,  wrapped  in  mantles, 

Stand  as  wardens  at  the  entrance, 

Stand  as  sentinels  o'erhead ! 

THE    BELLS. 

Excito  lentos ! 
Dissipo  ventos ! 
Paco  cruentos ! 

LUCIFER. 

Baffled!  baffled! 

Inefficient, 

Craven  spirits !  leave  this  labor 

Unto  Time,  the  great  Destroyer ! 

Come  away,  ere  night  is  gone ! 

VOICES. 

Onward!  onward! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

With  the  night-wind, 
Over  field  and  farm  and  forest, 
Lonely  homestead,  darksome  hamlet, 
Blighting  all  we  breathe  upon ! 

They  sweep  away.     Organ  and  Gregorian  Chant. 

CHOIR. 

Nocte  surgentes 
Vigilemus  omnes! 


I. 


11 


THE    CASTLE    OF  VAUTSBERG    ON    THE    RHINE. 


A  chamber  in  a  tower.    PRINCE  HENRY,  sitting  alone,  ill 
and  restless. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

I  CANNOT  sleep !  my  fervid  brain 
Calls  up  the  vanished  Past  again, 
And  throws  its  misty  splendors  deep 
Into  the  pallid  realms  of  sleep ! 
A  breath  from  that  far-distant  shore 
Comes  freshening  ever  more  and  more, 
And  wafts  o'er  intervening  seas 
Sweet  odors  from  the  Hesperides ! 
A  wind,  that  through  the  corridor 
Just  stirs  the  curtain,  and  no  more, 
And,  touching  the  seolian  strings, 
Faints  with  the  burden  that  it  brings! 


12  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Come  back !  ye  friendships  long  departed ! 
That  like  o'erflowing  streamlets  started, 
And  now  are  dwindled,  one  by  one, 
To  stony  channels  in  the  sun ! 
Come  back!  ye  friends,  whose  lives  are  ended ! 
Come  back,  with  all  that  light  attended, 
Which  seemed  to  darken  and  decay 
When  ye  arose  and  went  away ! 

They  come,  the  shapes  of  joy  and  woe, 

The  airy  crowds  of  long-ago, 

The  dreams  and  fancies  known  of  yore, 

That  have  been,  and  shall  be  no  more. 

They  change  the  cloisters  of  the  night 

Into  a  garden  of  delight ; 

They  make  the  dark  and  dreary  hours 

Open  and  blossom  into  flowers  ! 

I  would  not  sleep !     I  love  to  be 

Again  in  their  fair  company ; 

But  ere  my  lips  can  bid  them  stay, 

They  pass  and  vanish  quite  away ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  13 

Alas !  our  memories  may  retrace 
Each  circumstance  of  time  and  place, 
Season  and  scene  come  back  again, 
And  outward  things  unchanged  remain ; 
The  rest  we  cannot  reinstate ; 
Ourselves  we  cannot  re-create, 
Nor  set  our  souls  to  the  same  key 
Of  the  remembered  harmony ! 

Rest !  rest !     O,  give  me  rest  and  peace ! 
The  thought  of  life  that  ne'er  shall  cease 
Has  something  in  it  like  despair, 
A  weight  I  am  too  weak  to  bear ! 
Sweeter  to  this  afflicted  breast 
The  thought  of  never-ending  rest ! 
Sweeter  the  undisturbed  and  deep 
Tranquillity  of  endless  sleep ! 

A  fash  of  lightning,  out  of  which  LUCIFER  appears,  in  the 
garb  of  a  travelling  Physician. 

LUCIFER. 

All  hail  Prince  Henry ! 


14  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

PRINCE  HENRY,  starting. 

Who  is  it  speaks  ? 
"Who  and  what  are  you  ? 

LUCIFER. 

One  who  seeks 
A  moment's  audience  with  the  Prince. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

When  came  you  in  ? 

LUCIFER. 

A  moment  since. 

I  found  your  study  door  unlocked, 
And  thought  you  answered  when  I  knocked. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

I  did  not  hear  you. 

LUCIFER. 

You  heard  the  thunder ; 
It  was  loud  enough  to  waken  the  dead. 
And  it  is  not  a  matter  of  special  wonder 
That,  when  God  is  walking  overhead, 
You  should  not  have  heard  my  feeble  tread. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  15 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

What  may  your  wish  or  purpose  be  ? 

LUCIFER. 

Nothing  or  every  thing,  as  it  pleases 
Your  Highness.     You  behold  in  me 
Only  a  traveling  Physician ; 
One  of  the  few  who  have  a  mission 
To  cure  incurable  diseases, 
Or  those  that  are  called  so. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Can  you  bring 
The  dead  to  life? 

LUCIFER. 

Yes ;  very  nearly. 

And,  what  is  a  wiser  and  better  thing, 
Can  keep  the  living  from  ever  needing 
Such  an  unnatural,  strange  proceeding, 
By  showing  conclusively  and  clearly 
That  death  is  a  stupid  blunder  merely, 
And  not  a  necessity  of  our  lives. 


16  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

My  being  here  is  accidental ; 
The  storm,  that  against  your  casement  drives, 
In  the  little  village  below  waylaid  me. 
And  there  I  heard,  with  a  secret  delight, 
Of  your  maladies  physical  and  mental, 
Which  neither  astonished  nor  dismayed  me. 
And   I   hastened   hither,  though   late   in   the 

night, 
To  proffer  my  aid ! 

PRINCE  HENRY,  ironically. 

For  this  you  came ! 
Ah,  how  can  I  ever  hope  to  requite 
This  honor  from  one  so  erudite  ? 

LUCIFER. 

The  honor  is  mine,  or  will  be  when 
I  have  cured  your  disease. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

But  not  till  then. 

LUCIFER. 

What  is  your  illness  ? 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  17 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

It  has  no  name. 

A  smouldering,  dull,  perpetual  flame, 
As  in  a  kiln,  burns  in  my  veins, 
Sending  up  vapors  to  the  head ; 
My  heart  has  become  a  dull  lagoon, 
Which  a  kind  of  leprosy  drinks  and  drains ; 
I  am  accounted  as  one  who  is  dead, 
And,  indeed,  I  think  that  I  shall  be  soon. 

LUCIFER. 

And  has  Gordonius  the  Divine, 
In  his  famous  Lily  of  Medicine,  — 
I  see  the  book  lies  open  before  you,  — 
No  remedy  potent  enough  to  restore  you  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

None  whatever ! 

LUCIFER. 

The  dead  are  dead, 

And  their  oracles  dumb,  when  questioned 
Of  the  new  diseases  that  human  life 
2 


18  THE   GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Evolves  in  its  progress,  rank  and  rife. 
Consult  the  dead  upon  things  that  were, 
But  the  living  only  on  things  that  are. 
Have  you  done  this,  by  the  appliance 
And  aid  of  doctors  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Ay,  whole  schools 

Of  doctors,  with  their  learned  rules  ; 
But  the  case  is  quite  beyond  their  science. 
Even  the  doctors  of  Salern 
Send  me  back  word  they  can  discern 
No  cure  for  a  malady  like  this, 
Save  one  which  in  its  nature  is 
Impossible,  and  cannot  be ! 

LUCIFER. 

That  sounds  oracular ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Unendurable ! 

LUCIFER. 

What  is  their  remedy  ? 


THE   GOLDEN   LEGEND.  19 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

You  shall  see ; 
Writ  in  this  scroll  is  the  mystery. 

LUCIFER,  reading. 

"  Not  to  be  cured,  yet  not  incurable ! 
The  only  remedy  that  remains 
Is  the  blood  that  flows  from  a  maiden's  veins, 
Who  of  her  own  free  will  shall  die, 
And  give  her  life  as  the  price  of  yours ! " 
That  is  the  strangest  of  all  cures, 
And  one,  I  think,  you  will  never  try ; 
The  prescription  you  may  well  put  by, 
As  something  impossible  to  find 
Before  the  world  itself  shall  end ! 
And  yet  who  knows  ?     One  cannot  say 
That  into  some  maiden's  brain  that  kind 
Of  madness  will  not  find  its  way. 
Meanwhile  permit  me  to  recommend, 
As  the  matter  admits  of  no  delay, 
My  wonderful  Catholicon, 
Of  very  subtile  and  magical  powers ! 


20  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Purge  with  your  nostrums  and  drugs  infernal 
The  spouts  and  gargoyles  of  these  towers, 
Not  me !     My  faith  is  utterly  gone 
In  every  power  but  the  Power  Supernal ! 
Pray  tell  me,  of  what  school  are  you  ? 

LUCIFER. 

Both  of  the  Old  and  of  the  New ! 
The  school  of  Hermes  Trismegistus, 
Who  uttered  his  oracles  sublime 
Before  the  Olympiads,  in  the  dew 
Of  the  early  dawn  and  dusk  of  Time, 
The  reign  of  dateless  old  Hephaestus ! 
As  northward,  from  its  Nubian  springs, 
The  Nile,  for  ever  new  and  old, 
Among  the  living  and  the  dead, 
Its  mighty,  mystic  stream  has  rolled ; 
So,  starting  from  its  fountain-head 
Under  the  lotus-leaves  of  Isis, 
From  the  dead  demigods  of  eld, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  21 

Through  long,  unbroken  lines  of  kings 
Its  course  the  sacred  art  has  held, 
Unchecked,  unchanged  by  man's  devices. 
This  art  the  Arabian  Geber  taught, 
And  in  alembics,  finely  wrought, 
Distilling  herbs  and  flowers,  discovered 
The  secret  that  so  long  had  hovered 
Upon  the  misty  verge  of  Truth, 
The  Elixir  of  Perpetual  Youth, 
Called  Alcohol,  in  the  Arab  speech ! 
Like  him,  this  wondrous  lore  I  teach  I 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

What!  an  adept? 

LUCIFER. 

Nor  less,  nor  more ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

I  am  a  reader  of  such  books, 
A  lover  of  that  mystic  lore ! 
With  such  a  piercing  glance  it  looks 
Into  great  Nature's  open  eye, 


22  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

And  sees  within  it  trembling  lie 
The  portrait  of  the  Deity! 
And  yet,  alas !  with  all  my  pains. 
The  secret  and  the  mystery 
Have  baffled  and  eluded  me, 
Unseen  the  grand  result  remains ! 
LUCIFER,  showing  a  flask. 
Behold  it  here !  this  little  flask 
Contains  the  wonderful  quintessence, 
The  perfect  flower  and  efflorescence, 
Of  all  the  knowledge  man  can  ask ! 
Hold  it  up  thus  against  the  light ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

How  limpid,  pure,  and  crystalline, 
How  quick,  and  tremulous,  and  bright 
The  little  wavelets  dance  and  shine, 
As  were  it  the  Water  of  Life  in  sooth ! 

LUCIFER. 

It  is !     It  assuages  every  pain, 
Cures  all  disease,  and  gives  again 


THE   GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

To  age  the  swift  delights  of  youth. 
Inhale  its  fragrance. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

It  is  sweet. 

A  thousand  different  odors  meet 
And  mingle  in  its  rare  perfume, 
Such  as  the  winds  of  summer  waft 
At  open  windows  through  a  room  ! 

LTICIFER. 

Will  you  not  taste  it? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Will  one  draught 
Suffice  ? 

LUCIFER. 

If  not,  you  can  drink  more. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Into  this  crystal  goblet  pour 
So  much  as  safely  I  may  drink. 
LUCIFER,  pouring. 

Let  not  the  quantity  alarm  you; 
You  may  drink  all;  it  will  not  harm  you. 


23 


**  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

I  am  as  one  who  on  the  brink 
Of  a  dark  river  stands  and  sees 
The  waters  flow,  the  landscape  dim 
Around  him  waver,  wheel,  and  swim, 
And,  ere  he  plunges,  stops  to  think 
Into  what  whirlpools  he  may  sink ; 
One  moment  pauses,  and  no  more, 
Then  madly  plunges  from  the  shore ! 
Headlong  into  the  dark  mysteries 
Of  life  and  death  I  boldly  leap, 
Nor  fear  the  fateful  current's  sweep, 
Nor  what  in  ambush  lurks  below ! 
For  death  is  better  than  disease ! 

An  ANGEL  with  an  &olian  harp  hovers  in  the  air. 

ANGEL. 

"Woe !  woe !  eternal  woe ! 

Not  only  the  whispered  prayer 

Of  love, 

But  the  imprecations  of  hate, 

Reverberate 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  25 

For  ever  and  ever  through  the  air 

Above ! 

This  fearful  curse 

Shakes  the  great  universe ! 

LUCIFER,  disappearing. 
Drink!  drink! 
And  thy  soul  shall  sink 
Down  into  the  dark  abyss, 
Into  the  infinite  abyss, 
From  which  no  plummet  nor  rope 
Ever  drew  up  the  silver  sand  of  hope ! 

PRINCE  HENRY,  drinking. 
It  is  like  a  draught  of  fire ! 
Through  every  vein 
I  feel  again 

The  fever  of  youth,  the  soft  desire ; 
A  rapture  that  is  almost  pain 
Throbs  in  my  heart  and  fills  my  brain ! 
O  joy !     O  joy !     I  feel 
The  band  of  steel 


26  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

That  so  long  and  heavily  has  pressed 

Upon  my  breast 

Uplifted,  and  the  malediction 

Of  my  affliction 

Is  taken  from  me,  and  my  weary  breast 

At  length  finds  rest. 

THE    ANGEL. 

It  is  but  the  rest  of  the  fire,  from  which  the 
air  has  been  taken ! 

It  is  but  the  rest  of  the  sand,  when  the  hour 
glass  is  not  shaken ! 

It  is  but  the  rest  of  the  tide  between  the  ebb 
and  the  flow ! 

It  is  but  the  rest  of  the  wind  between  the 
flaws  that  blow ! 

With  fiendish  laughter, 

Hereafter, 

This  false  physician 

Will  mock  thee  in  thy  perdition. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  27 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Speak!  speak! 

Who  says  that  I  am  ill  ? 

I  am  not  ill !     I  am  not  weak ! 

The  trance,  the  swoon,  the  dream,  is  o'er ! 

I  feel  the  chill  of  death  no  more ! 

At  length, 

I  stand  renewed  in  all  my  strength ! 

Beneath  me  I  can  feel 

The  great  earth  stagger  and  reel, 

As  if  the  feet  of  a  descending  God 

Upon  its  surface  trod, 

And  like  a  pebble  it  rolled  beneath  his  heel ! 

This,  O  brave  physician !  this 

Is  thy  great  Palingenesis ! 

Drinks  again. 

THE   ANGEL. 

Touch  the  goblet  no  more ! 
It  will  make  thy  heart  sore 
To  its  very  core ! 


28  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Its  perfume  is  the  breath 

Of  the  Angel  of  Death, 

And  the  light  that  within  it  lies 

Is  the  flash  of  his  evil  eyes. 

Beware!     O,  beware! 

For  sickness,  sorrow,  and  care 

All  are  there ! 

PRINCE  HENRY,  sinking  back. 

0  thou  voice  within  my  breast ! 
Why  entreat  me,  why  upbraid  me, 
When  the  steadfast  tongues  of  truth 
And  the  flattering  hopes  of  youth 
Have  all  deceived  me  and  betrayed  me  ? 
Give  me,  give  me  rest,  O,  rest ! 
Golden  visions  wave  and  hover, 
Golden  vapors,  waters  streaming, 
Landscapes  moving,  changing,  gleaming! 

1  am  like  a  happy  lover 

Who  illumines  life  with  dreaming ! 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  29 

Brave  physician !     Rare  physician ! 
Well  hast  thou  fulfilled  thy  mission ! 

His  head  falls  on  his  book. 

THE  ANGEL,  receding. 
Alas!  alas! 

Like  a  vapor  the  golden  vision 
Shall  fade  and  pass, 
And  thou  wilt  find  in  thy  heart  again 
Only  the  blight  of  pain, 
And  bitter,  bitter,  bitter  contrition ! 


30 


COURT-YARD    OF    THE    CASTLE. 


HUBERT  standing  by  the  gateway. 

HUBERT. 

How  sad  the  grand  old  castle  looks ! 
O'erhead,  the  unmolested  rooks 
Upon  the  turret's  windy  top 
Sit,  talking  of  the  farmer's  crop ; 
Here  in  the  court-yard  springs  the  grass, 
So  few  are  now  the  feet  that  pass ; 
The  stately  peacocks,  bolder  grown, 
Come  hopping  down  the  steps  of  stone, 
As  if  the  castle  were  their  own ; 
And  I,  the  poor  old  seneschal, 
Haunt,  like  a  ghost,  the  banquet-hall. 


THE   GOLDEN    LEGEND.  31 

Alas !  the  merry  guests  no  more 
Crowd  through  the  hospitable  door ; 
No  eyes  with  youth  and  passion  shine, 
No  cheeks  glow  redder  than  the  wine ; 
No  song,  no  laugh,  no  jovial  din 
Of  drinking  wassail  to  the  pin ; 
But  all  is  silent,  sad,  and  drear, 
And  now  the  only  sounds  I  hear 
Are  the  hoarse  rooks  upon  the  walls, 
And  horses  stamping  in  their  stalls ! 

A  horn  sounds. 

What  ho !  that  merry,  sudden  blast 
Reminds  me  of  the  days  long  past ! 
And,  as  of  old  resounding,  grate 
The  heavy  hinges  of  the  gate, 
And,  clattering  loud,  with  iron  clank, 
Down  goes  the  sounding  bridge  of  plank, 
As  if  it  were  in  haste  to  greet 
The  pressure  of  a  traveller's  feet ! 


32  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Enter  WALTER  the  Minnesinger. 

WALTER. 

How  now,  my  friend !    This  looks  quite  lonely ! 

No  banner  flying  from  the  walls, 

No  pages  and  no  seneschals. 

No  wardens,  and  one  porter  only ! 

Is  it  you,  Hubert  ? 

HUBERT. 

Ah!  Master  Walter! 

WALTER. 

Alas !  how  forms  and  faces  alter ! 

I  did  not  know  you.     You  look  older ! 

Your  hair  has  grown  much  grayer  and  thinner, 

And  you  stoop  a  little  in  the  shoulder ! 

HUBERT. 

Alack !     I  am  a  poor  old  sinner, 

And,  like  these  towers,  begin  to  moulder ; 

And  you  have  been  absent  many  a  year ! 

WALTER. 

How  is  the  Prince  ? 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  33 

HUBERT. 

He  is  not  here ; 
He  has  been  ill :  and  now  has  fled. 

WALTER. 

Speak  it  out  frankly :  say  he  's  dead ! 
Is  it  not  so  ? 

HUBERT. 

No ;  if  you  please ; 
A  strange,  mysterious  disease 
Fell  on  him  with  a  sudden  blight. 
Whole  hours  together  he  would  stand 
Upon  the 'terrace,  in  a  dream. 
Resting  his  head  upon  his  hand, 
Best  pleased  when  he  was  most  alone, 
Like  Saint  John  Nepomuck  in  stone, 
Looking  down  into  a  stream. 
In  the  Round  Tower,  night  after  night, 
He  sat,  and  bleared  his  eyes  with  books ; 
Until  one  morning  we  found  him  there 
Stretched  on  the  floor,  as  if  in  a  swoon 
3 


34 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 


He  had  fallen  from  his  chair. 

We  hardly  recognized  his  sweet  looks ! 

WALTER. 

Poor  Prince ! 

HUBERT. 

I  think  he  might  have  mended ; 
And  he  did  mend ;  but  very  soon 
The  Priests  came  flocking  in,  like  rooks, 
With  all  their  crosiers  and  their  crooks, 
And  so  at  last  the  matter  ended. 

WALTER. 

How  did  it  end  ? 

HUBERT. 

Why,  in  Saint  Roclms 
They  made  him  stand,  and  wait  his  doom ; 
And,  as  if  he  were  condemned  to  the  tomb, 
Began  to  mutter  their  hocus-pocus. 
First,  the  Mass  for  the  Dead  they  chaunted, 
Then  three  times  laid  upon  his  head 
A  shovelful  of  church-yard  clay, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  35 

Saying  to  him,  as  he  stood  undaunted, 
"  This  is  a  sign  that  thou  art  dead, 
So  in  thy  heart  be  penitent ! " 
And  forth  from  the  chapel  door  he  went 
Into  disgrace  and  banishment, 
Clothed  in  a  cloak  of  hodden  gray, 
And  bearing  a  wallet,  and  a  bell, 
Whose  sound  should  be  a  perpetual  knell 
To  keep  all  travellers  away. 

WALTER. 

O,  horrible  fate !     Outcast,  rejected, 
As  one  with  pestilence  infected ! 

HUBERT. 

Then  was  the  family  tomb  unsealed, 
And  broken  helmet,  sword  and  shield, 
Buried  together,  in  common  wreck, 
As  is  the  custom,  when  the  last 
Of  any  princely  house  has  passed, 
And  thrice,  as  with  a  trumpet-blast, 
A  herald  shouted  down  the  stair 


36  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

The  words  of  warning  and  despair,  — 
"  O  Hoheneck !     O  Hoheneck ! " 

WALTER. 

Still  in  my  soul  that  cry  goes  on,  — 

For  ever  gone !  for  ever  gone ! 

Ah,  what  a  cruel  sense  of  loss, 

Like  a  black  shadow,  would  fall  across 

The  hearts  of  all,  if  he  should  die ! 

His  gracious  presence  upon  earth 

Was  as  a  fire  upon  a  hearth ; 

As  pleasant  songs,  at  morning  sung, 

The  words  that  dropped  from  his  sweet  tongue 

Strengthened  our  hearts ;  or,  heard  at  night, 

Made  all  our  slumbers  soft  and  light. 

Where  is  he  ? 

HUBERT. 

In  the  Odenwald. 
Some  of  his  tenants,  unappalled 
By  fear  of  death,  or  priestly  word,  — 
A  holy  family,  that  make 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  37 

Each  meal  a  Supper  of  the  Lord,  — 
Have  him  beneath  their  watch  and  ward, 
For  love  of  him,  and  Jesus'  sake ! 
Pray  you  come  in.     For  why  should  I 
With  out-door  hospitality 
My  prince's  friend  thus  entertain  ? 

WALTER. 

I  would  a  moment  here  remain. 

But  you,  good  Hubert,  go  before, 

Fill  me  a  goblet  of  May-drink, 

As  aromatic  as  the  May 

From  which  it  steals  the  breath  away, 

And  which  he  loved  so  well  of  yore ; 

It  is  of  him  that  I  would  think. 

You  shall  attend  me,  when  I  call, 

In  the  ancestral  banquet-hall. 

Unseen  companions,  guests  of  air, 

You  cannot  wait  on,  will  be  there ; 

They  taste  not  food,  they  drink  not  wine, 

But  their  soft  eyes  look  into  mine, 


38  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

And  their  lips  speak  to  me,  and  all 
The  vast  and  shadowy  banquet-hall 
Is  full  of  looks  and  words  divine ! 
Leaning  over  the  parapet. 

The  day  is  done ;  and  slowly  from  the  scene 
The  stooping  sun  upgathers  his  spent  shafts, 
And  puts  them  back  into  his  golden  quiver ! 
Below  me  in  the  valley,  deep  and  green 
As  goblets  are,  from  which  in  thirsty  draughts 
We  drink  its  wine,  the  swift  and  mantling 

river 

Flows  on  triumphant  through  these  lovely  re 
gions, 

Etched  with  the  shadows  of  its  sombre  mar- 
gent, 

And  soft,  reflected  clouds  of  gold  and  argent ! 
Yes,  there  it  flows,  for  ever,  broad  and  still, 
As  when  the  vanguard  of  the  Roman  legions 
First  saw  it  from  the  top  of  yonder  hill ! 
How  beautiful  it  is !     Fresh  fields  of  wheat, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  39 

Vineyard,  and  town,  and  tower  with  fluttering 

flag, 

The  consecrated  chapel  on  the  crag, 
And  the  white  hamlet  gathered  round  its  base, 
Like  Mary  sitting  at  her  Saviour's  feet, 
And  looking  up  at  his  beloved  face ! 
O  friend!     O  best  of  friends!     Thy  absence 

more 

Than  the  impending  night  darkens  the  land 
scape  o'er! 


II. 


43 


A    FARM    IN    THE    ODENWALD. 


A  garden;  morning;   PRINCE  HENRY  seated,  with  a  book. 
ELSIE,  at  a  distance,  gathering  flowers. 

PRINCE  HENRY,  reading. 
ONE  morning,  all  alone, 
Out  of  his  convent  of  gray  stone, 
Into  the  forest  older,  darker,  grayer, 
His  lips  moving  as  if  in  prayer, 
His  head  sunken  upon  his  breast 
As  in  a  dream  of  rest, 
Walked  the  Monk  Felix.     All  about 
The  broad,  sweet  sunshine  lay  without, 
Filling  the  summer  air ; 
And  within  the  woodlands  as  he  trod, 


44  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

The  twilight  was  like  the  Truce  of  God 

With  worldly  woe  and  care ; 

Under  him  lay  the  golden  moss ; 

And  above  him  the  boughs  of  hemlock-trees 

Waved,  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross, 

And  whispered  their  Benedicites ; 

And  from  the  ground 

Rose  an  odor  sweet  and  fragrant 

Of  the  wild-flowers  and  the  vagrant 

Vines  that  wandered, 

Seeking  the  sunshine,  round  and  round. 

These  he  heeded  not,  but  pondered 
On  the  volume  in  his  hand, 
A  volume  of  Saint  Augustine, 
Wherein  he  read  of  the  unseen 
Splendors  of  God's  great  town 
In  the  unknown  land, 
And,  with  his  eyes  cast  down 
In  humility,  he  said  : 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  45 

"  I  believe,  O  God, 

What  herein  I  have  read, 

But  alas !  I  do  not  understand ! " 

And  lo !  he  heard 

The  sudden  singing  of  a  bird, 

A  snow-white  bird,  that  from  a  cloud 

Dropped  down, 

And  among  the  branches  brown 

Sat  singing 

So  sweet,  and  clear,  and  loud, 

It  seemed  a  thousand  harp-strings  ringing. 

And  the  Monk  Felix  closed  his  book, 

And  long,  long, 

With  rapturous  look, 

He  listened  to  the  song, 

And  hardly  breathed  or  stirred, 

Until  he  saw,  as  in  a  vision, 

The  land  Elysian, 

And  in  the  heavenly  city  heard 


46  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Angelic  feet 

Fall  on  the  golden  flagging  of  the  street. 

And  he  would  fain 

Have  caught  the  wondrous  bird, 

But  strove  in  vain ; 

For  it  flew  away,  away, 

Far  over  hill  and  dell, 

And  instead  of  its  sweet  singing 

He  heard  the  convent  bell 

Suddenly  in  the  silence  ringing 

For  the  service  of  noonday. 

And  he  retraced 

His  pathway  homeward  sadly  and  in  haste. 

In  the  convent  there  was  a  change ! 
He  looked  for  each  well-known  face, 
But  the  faces  were  new  and  strange ; 
New  figures  sat  in  the  oaken  stalls, 
New  voices  chaunted  in  the  choir ; 
Yet  the  place  was  the  same  place, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  47 

The  same  dusky  walls 

Of  cold,  gray  stone, 

The  same  cloisters  and  belfry  and  spire. 

A  stranger  and  alone 

Among  that  brotherhood 

The  Monk  Felix  stood. 

"  Forty  years,"  said  a  Friar, 

"  Have  I  been  Prior 

Of  this  convent  in  the  wood, 

But  for  that  space 

Never  have  I  beheld  thy  face ! 

The  heart  of  the  Monk  Felix  fell : 

And  he  answered,  with  submissive  tone, 

"  This  morning,  after  the  hour  of  Prime, 

I  left  my  cell. 

And  wandered  forth  alone, 

Listening  ah1  the  time 

To  the  melodious  singing 


48  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEJND. 

Of  a  beautiful  white  bird, 

Until  I  heard 

The  bells  of  the  convent  ringing 

Noon  from  their  noisy  towers. 

It  was  as  if  I  dreamed ; 

For  what  to  me  had  seemed 

Moments  only,  had  been  hours ! " 

"  Years ! "  said  a  voice  close  by. 

It  was  an  aged  monk  who  spoke, 

From  a  bench  of  oak 

Fastened  against  the  wall ;  — 

He  was  the  oldest  monk  of  all. 

For  a  whole  century 

Had  he  been  there, 

Serving  God  in  prayer, 

The  meekest  and  humblest  of  his  creatures. 

He  remembered  well  the  features 

Of  Felix,  and  he  said, 

Speaking  distinct  and  slow : 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 


"  One  hundred  years  ago, 

When  I  was  a  novice  in  this  place, 

There  was  here  a  monk,  full  of  God's  grace, 

Who  bore  the  name 

Of  Felix,  and  this  man  must  be  the  same." 

And  straightway 

They  brought  forth  to  the  light  of  day 
A  volume  old  and  brown, 
A  huge  tome,  bound 
In  brass  and  wild-boar's  hide, 
Wherein  were  written  down 
The  names  of  all  who  had  died 
In  the  convent,  since  it  was  edified. 
And  there  they  found, 
Just  as  the  old  monk  said, 
That  on  a  certain  day  and  date, 
One  hundred  years  before, 
Had  gone  forth  from  the  convent  gate 
The  Monk  Felix,  and  never  more 
4 


50  THE   GOLDEN   LEGEND. 

Had  entered  that  sacred  door. 

He  had  been  counted  among  the  dead ! 

And  they  knew,  at  last, 

That,  such  had  been  the  power 

Of  that  celestial  and  immortal  song, 

A  hundred  years  had  passed, 

And  had  not  seemed  so  long 

As  a  single  hour ! 

ELSIE  comes  in  with  flowers. 

ELSIE. 

Here  are  flowers  for  you, 
But  they  are  not  all  for  you. 
Some  of  them  are  for  the  Virgin 
And  for  Saint  Cecilia. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

As  thou  standest  there, 
Thou  seemest  to  me  like  the  angel 
That  brought  the  immortal  roses 
To  Saint  Cecilia's  bridal  chamber. 

ELSIE. 

But  these  will  fade. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  51 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Themselves  will  fade, 

But  not  their  memory, 

And  memory  has  the  power 

To  re-create  them  from  the  dust. 

They  remind  me,  too, 

Of  martyred  Dorothea, 

Who  from  celestial  gardens  sent 

Flowers  as  her  witnesses 

To  him  who  scoffed  and  doubted. 

ELSIE. 

Do  you  know  the  story 

Of  Christ  and  the  Sultan's  daughter? 

That  is  the  prettiest  legend  of  them  all. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Then  teU  it  to  me. 

But  first  come  hither. 

Lay  the  flowers  down  beside  me, 

And  put  both  thy  hands  in  mine. 

Now  tell  me  the  story. 


52  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

ELSIE. 

Early  in  the  morning 
The  Sultan's  daughter 
Walked  in  her  father's  garden, 
Gathering  the  bright  flowers, 
All  full  of  dew. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Just  as  thou  hast  been  doing 
This  morning,  dearest  Elsie. 

ELSIE. 

And  as  she  gathered  them, 

She  wondered  more  and  more 

Who  was  the  Master  of  the  Flowers, 

And  made  them  grow 

Out  of  the  cold,  dark  earth. 

"  In  my  heart,"  she  said, 

"  I  love  him ;  and  for  him 

Would  leave  my  father's  palace, 

To  labor  in  his  garden." 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  53 

PRINCE  HENRY. 

Dear,  innocent  child ! 

How  sweetly  thou  recallest 

The  long-forgotten  legend, 

That  in  my  early  childhood 

My  mother  told  me ! 

Upon  my  brain 

It  reappears  once  more, 

As  a  birth-mark  on  the  forehead 

When  a  hand  suddenly 

Is  laid  upon  it,  and  removed ! 

ELSIE. 

And  at  midnight, 

As  she  lay  upon  her  bed, 

She  heard  a  voice 

Call  to  her  from  the  garden, 

And,  looking  forth  from  her  window, 

She  saw  a  beautiful  youth 

Standing  among  the  flowers. 

It  was  the  Lord  Jesus ; 


54  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

And  she  went  down  to  him, 

And  opened  the  door  for  him ; 

And  he  said  to  her,  "  O  maiden ! 

Thou  hast  thought  of  me  with  love, 

And  for  thy  sake 

Out  of  my  Father's  kingdom 

Have  I  come  hither : 

I  am  the  Master  of  the  Flowers. 

My  garden  is  in  Paradise, 

And  if  thou  wilt  go  with  me, 

Thy  bridal  garland 

Shall  be  of  bright  red  flowers." 

And  then  he  took  from  his  finger 

A  golden  ring, 

And  asked  the  Sultan's  daughter 

If  she  would  be  his  bride. 

And  when  she  answered  him  with  love, 

His  wounds  began  to  bleed, 

And  she  said  to  him, 

"  O  Love !  how  red  thy  heart  is, 


THE   GOLDEN    LEGEND.  55 

And  thy  hands  are  full  of  roses." 
"  For  thy  sake,"  answered  he, 
"  For  thy  sake  is  my  heart  so  red, 
For  thee  I  bring  these  roses. 
I  gathered  them  at  the  cross 
Whereon  I  died  for  thee ! 
Come,  for  my  Father  calls. 
Thou  art  my  elected  bride ! " 
And  the  Sultan's  daughter 
Followed  him  to  his  Father's  garden. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Wouldst  thou  have  done  so,  Elsie  ? 

ELSIE. 

Yes,  very  gladly. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Then  the  Celestial  Bridegroom 
Will  come  for  thee  also. 
Upon  thy  forehead  he  will  place, 
Not  his  crown  of  thorns, 
But  a  crown  of  roses. 


56  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

In  thy  bridal  chamber, 

Like  Saint  Cecilia, 

Thou  shalt  hear  sweet  music, 

And  breathe  the  fragrance 

Of  flowers  immortal! 

Go  now  and  place  these  flowers 

Before  her  picture. 


57 


A   ROOM    IN    THE    FARM-HOUSE. 


Twilight.    URSULA  spinning.    GOTTLIEB  asleep  in  his  chair. 

URSULA. 

DARKER  and  darker !     Hardly  a  glimmer 
Of  light  comes  in  at  the  window-pane ; 
Or  is  it  my  eyes  are  growing  dimmer  ? 
I  cannot  disentangle  this  skein, 
Nor  wind  it  rightly  upon  the  reel. 
Elsie! 

GOTTLIEB,  starting. 
The  stopping  of  thy  wheel 
Has  wakened  me  out  of  a  pleasant  dream. 
I  thought  I  was  sitting  beside  a  stream. 
And  heard  the  grinding  of  a  mill, 
When  suddenly  the  wheels  stood  still, 


58  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

And  a  voice  cried  "  Elsie  "  in  my  ear ! 
It  startled  me,  it  seemed  so  near. 

URSULA. 

I  was  calling  her :  I  want  a  light. 

I  cannot  see  to  spin  my  flax. 

Bring  the  lamp,  Elsie.     Dost  thou  hear  ? 

ELSIE,  within. 
In  a  moment ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Where  are  Bertha  and  Max  ? 

URSULA. 

They  are  sitting  with  Elsie  at  the  door. 
She  is  telling  them  stories  of  the  wood, 
And  the  Wolf,  and  Little  Red  Ridinghood. 

GOTTLIEB. 

And  where  is  the  Prince  ? 

URSULA. 

In  his  room  overhead ; 
I  heard  him  walking  across  the  floor, 
As  he  always  does,  with  a  heavy  tread. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  59 

ELSIE  comes  in  with  a  lamp.  MAX  and  BERTHA,  follow  her ; 
and  they  all  sing  the  Evening  Song  on  the  lighting  of 
the  lamps. 

EVENING   SONG. 

O  gladsome  light 
Of  the  Father  Immortal, 
And  of  the  celestial 
Sacred  and  blessed 
Jesus,  our  Saviour ! 

Now  to  the  sunset 
Again  hast  thou  brought  us  ; 
And,  seeing  the  evening 
Twilight,  we  bless  thee, 
Praise  thee,  adore  thee ! 

Father  omnipotent ! 
Son,  the  Life-giver ! 
Spirit,  the  Comforter ! 
Worthy  at  all  times 
Of  worship  and  wonder ! 


60  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

PRINCE  HENRY,  at  the  door. 
Amen ! 

URSULA. 

Who  was  it  said  Amen  ? 

ELSIE. 

It  was  the  Prince :  he  stood  at  the  door, 
And  listened  a  moment,  as  we  chaunted 
The  evening  song.     He  is  gone  again. 
I  have  often  seen  him  there  before. 

URSULA. 

Poor  Prince ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

I  thought  the  house  was  haunted ! 
Poor  Prince,  alas !  and  yet  as  mild 
And  patient  as  the  gentlest  child ! 

MAX. 

I  love  him  because  he  is  so  good, 
And  makes  me  such  fine  bows  and  arrows, 
To  shoot  at  the  robins  and  the  sparrows, 
And  the  red  squirrels  in  the  wood ! 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  61 

BERTHA. 

I  love  him,  too ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Ah,  yes!  we  all 

Love  him,  from  the  bottom  of  our  hearts  ; 
He   gave  us   the   farm,   the   house,   and   the 

grange, 

He  gave  us  the  horses  and  the  carts, 
And  the  great  oxen  in  the  stall, 
The  vineyard,  and  the  forest  range ! 
We  have  nothing  to  give  him  but  our  love ! 

BERTHA. 

Did  he  give  us  the  beautiful  stork  above 
On   the   chimney-top,  with    its    large,  round 
nest? 

GOTTLIEB. 

No,  not  the  stork ;  by  God  in  heaven, 
As  a  blessing,  the  dear,  white  stork  was  given ; 
But  the  Prince  has  given  us  all  the  rest. 
God  bless  him,  and  make  him  well  again 


62  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

ELSIE. 

Would  I  could  do  something  for  his  sake, 
Something  to  cure  his  sorrow  and  pain  ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

That  no  one  can ;  neither  thou  nor  I, 
Nor  any  one  else. 

ELSIE. 

And  must  he  die  ? 

URSULA. 

Yes ;  if  the  dear  God  does  not  take 
Pity  upon  him,  in  his  distress, 
And  work  a  miracle ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Or  unless 

Some  maiden,  of  her  own  accord, 
Offers  her  life  for  that  of  her  lord, 
And  is  willing  to  die  in  his  stead. 

ELSIE. 

I  will! 

URSULA. 

Prithee,  thou  foolish  child,  be  still ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  63 

Thou  shouldst  not  say  what  thou  dost  not 
mean! 

ELSIE. 

I  mean  it  truly ! 

MAX. 

O  father!  this  morning, 
Down  by  the  mill,  in  the  ravine, 
Hans  killed  a  wolf,  the  very  same 
That  in  the  night  to  the  sheepfold  came, 
And  ate  up  my  lamb,  that  was  left  outside. 

GOTTLIEB. 

I  am  glad  he  is  dead.     It  will  be  a  warning 
To  the  wolves  in  the  forest,  far  and  wide. 

MAX. 

And  I  am  going  to  have  his  hide ! 

BERTHA. 

I  wonder  if  this  is  the  wolf  that  ate 
Little  Red  Ridinghood! 

URSULA. 

O,  no! 


64  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

That  wolf  was  killed  a  long  while  ago. 
Come,  children,  it  is  growing  late. 

MAX. 

Ah,  how  I  wish  I  were  a  man, 

As  stout  as  Hans  is,  and  as  strong ! 

I  would  do  nothing  else,  the  whole  day  long, 

But  just  kill  wolves. 

GOTTLIEB. 

Then  go  to  bed, 

And  grow  as  fast  as  a  little  boy  can. 
Bertha  is  half  asleep  already. 
See  how  she  nods  her  heavy  head, 
And  her  sleepy  feet  are  so  unsteady 
She  will  hardly  be  able  to  creep  up  stairs. 

URSULA. 

Good  night,  my  children.     Here  's  the  light. 
And  do  not  forget  to  say  your  prayers 
Before  you  sleep. 

GOTTLIEB. 

Good  night ! 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  65 

MAX  and  BERTHA. 

Good  night ! 
They  go  out  with  ELSIE. 

URSULA,  spinning. 

She  is  a  strange  and  wayward  child, 
That  Elsie  of  ours.     She  looks  so  old, 
And  thoughts  and  fancies  weird  and  wild 
Seem  of  late  to  have  taken  hold 
Of  her  heart,  that  was  once  so  docile  and  mild ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

She  is  like  all  girls. 

URSULA. 

Ah  no,  forsooth ! 
Unlike  all  I  have  ever  seen. 
For  she  has  visions  and  strange  dreams, 
And  in  all  her  words  and  ways,  she  seems 
Much  older  than  she  is  in  truth. 
Who  would  think  her  but  fourteen  ? 
And  there  has  been  of  late  such  a  change! 
My  heart  is  heavy  with  fear  and  doubt 


66 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 


That  she  may  not  live  till  the  year  is  out. 
She  is  so  strange,  —  so  strange,  —  so  strange ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

I  am  not  troubled  with  any  such  fear ; 
She  will  live  and  thrive  for  many  a  year. 


67 


ELSIE'S  CHAMBER. 


Night.     ELSIE  praying. 

ELSIE. 

MY  Redeemer  and  my  Lord, 
I  beseech  thee,  I  entreat  thee, 
Guide  me  in  each  act  and  word, 
That  hereafter  I  may  meet  thee, 
Watching,  waiting,  hoping,  yearning, 
With  my  lamp  well  trimmed  and  burning ! 

Interceding 

With  these  bleeding 

Wounds  upon  thy  hands  and  side, 

For  all  who  have  lived  and  erred 


68  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Thou  hast  suffered,  thou  hast  died, 
Scourged,  and  mocked,  and  crucified, 
And  in  the  grave  hast  thou  been  buried ! 

If  my  feeble  prayer  can  reach  thee, 

O  my  Saviour,  I  beseech  thee, 

Even  as  thou  hast  died  for  me, 

More  sincerely 

Let  me  follow  where  thou  leadest, 

Let  me,  bleeding  as  thou  bleedest, 

Die,  if  dying  I  may  give 

Life  to  one  who  asks  to  live, 

And  more  nearly, 

Dying  thus,  resemble  thee ! 


69 


THE    CHAMBER    OF    GOTTLIEB   AND   URSULA. 


Midnight.     ELSIE  standing  by  their  bedside,  weeping. 
GOTTLIEB. 

THE  wind  is  roaring ;  the  rushing  rain 

Is  loud  upon  roof  and  window-pane, 

As  if  the  Wild  Huntsman  of  Rodenstein. 

Boding  evil  to  me  and  mine, 

Were  abroad  to-night  with  his  ghostly  train ! 

In  the  brief  lulls  of  the  tempest  wild, 

The  dogs  howl  in  the  yard ;  and  hark ! 

Some  one  is  sobbing  in  the  dark, 

Here  in  the  chamber! 

ELSIE. 

It  is  I. 


70  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

. 
URSULA. 

Elsie !  what  ails  thee,  my  poor  child  ? 

ELSIE. 

I  am  disturbed  and  much  distressed, 
In  thinking  our  dear  Prince  must  die ; 
I  cannot  close  mine  eyes,  nor  rest. 

GOTTLIEB. 

What  wouldst  thou  ?     In  the  Power  Divine 
His  healing  lies,  not  in  our  own ; 
It  is  in  the  hand  of  God  alone. 

ELSIE. 

Nay,  he  has  put  it  into  mine, 
And  into  my  heart ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Thy  words  are  wild ! 

URSULA. 

What  dost  thou  mean  ?  my  child !  my  child ! 

ELSIE. 

That  for  our  dear  Prince  Henry's  sake 
I  will  myself  the  offering  make, 
And  give  my  life  to  purchase  his. 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  71 

' 
URSULA. 

Am  I  still  dreaming,  or  awalie  ? 
Thou  speakest  carelessly  of  death, 
And  yet  thou  knowest  not  what  it  is. 

ELSIE. 

'  T  is  the  cessation  of  our  breath. 

Silent  and  motionless  we  lie ; 

And  no  one  knoweth  more  than  this. 

I  saw  our  little  Gertrude  die ; 

She  left  off  breathing,  and  no  more 

I  smoothed  the  pillow  beneath  her  head. 

She  was  more  beautiful  than  before. 

Like  violets  faded  were  her  eyes ; 

By  this  we  knew  that  she  was  dead. 

Through  the  open  window  looked  the  skies 

Into  the  chamber  where  she  lay, 

And  the  wind  was  like  the  sound  of  wings, 

As  if  angels  came  to  bear  her  away. 

Ah !  when  I  saw  and  felt  these  things, 

I  found  it  difficult  to  stay ; 


72  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

I  longed  to  die,  as  she  had  died, 
And  go  forth  with  her,  side  by  side. 
The  Saints  are  dead,  the  Martyrs  dead, 
And  Mary,  and  our  Lord ;  and  I 
Would  follow  in  humility 
The  way  by  them  illumined ! 

URSULA. 

My  child !  my  child !  thou  must  not  die ! 

ELSIE. 

Why  should  I  live  ?     Do  I  not  know 
The  life  of  woman  is  full  of  woe  ? 
Toiling  on  and  on  and  on, 
With  breaking  heart,  and  tearful  eyes, 
And  silent  lips,  and  in  the  soul 
The  secret  longings  that  arise, 
Which  this  world  never  satisfies ! 
Some  more,  some  less,  but  of  the  whole 
Not  one  quite  happy,  no,  not  one ! 

URSULA. 

It  is  the  malediction  of  Eve ! 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  73 

ELSIE. 

In  place  of  it,  let  me  receive 
The  benediction  of  Mary,  then. 

GOTTLIEB. 

Ah,  woe  is  me !     Ah,  woe  is  me ! 
Most  wretched  am  I  among  men ! 

URSULA. 

Alas !  that  I  should  live  to  see 
Thy  death,  beloved,  and  to  stand 
Above  thy  grave  !     Ah,  woe  the  day ! 

ELSIE. 

Thou  wilt  not  see  it.     I  shall  lie 

Beneath  the  flowers  of  another  land, 

For  at  Salerno,  far  away 

Over  the  mountains,  over  the  sea, 

It  is  appointed  me  to  die ! 

And  it  will  seem  no  more  to  thee 

Than  if  at  the  village  on  market-day 

I  should  a  little  longer  stay 

Than  I  am  used. 


74  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

URSULA. 

Even  as  thou  sayest ! 

And  how  my  heart  beats,  when  thou  stayest ! 
I  cannot  rest  until  my  sight 
Is  satisfied  with  seeing  thee. 
What,  then,  if  thou  wert  dead  ? 

GOTTLIEB. 

Ah  me ! 

Of  our  old  eyes  thou  art  the  light ! 
The  joy  of  our  old  hearts  art  thou! 
And  wilt  thou  die  ? 

URSULA. 

Not  now !  not  now ! 

ELSIE 

Christ  died  for  me,  and  shall  not  I 
Be  willing  for  my  Prince  to  die  ? 
You  both  are  silent ;  you  cannot  speak. 
This  said  I,  at  our  Saviour's  feast, 
After  confession,  to  the  priest, 
And  even  he  made  no  reply. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  75 

Does  he  not  warn  us  all  to  seek 
The  happier,  better  land  on  high, 
Where  flowers  immortal  never  wither; 
And  could  he  forbid  me  to  go  thither  ? 

GOTTLIEB. 

In  God's  own  time,  my  heart's  delight! 
When  he  shall  call  thee,  not  before ! 

ELSIE. 

I  heard  him  call.     When  Christ  ascended 

Triumphantly,  from  star  to  star, 

He  left  the  gates  of  heaven  ajar. 

I  had  a  vision  in  the  night, 

And  saw  him  standing  at  the  door 

Of  his  Father's  mansion,  vast  and  splendid, 

And  beckoning  to  me  from  afar. 

I  cannot  stay ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

She  speaks  almost 
As  if  it  were  the  Holy  Ghost 
Spake  through  her  lips,  and  in  her  stead ! 
What  if  this  were  of  God  ? 


76  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

URSULA. 

Ah,  then 
Gainsay  it  dare  we  not. 

GOTTLIEB. 

Amen! 

Elsie !  the  words  that  thou  hast  said 
Are  strange  and  new  for  us  to  hear, 
And  fill  our  hearts  with  doubt  and  fear. 
Whether  it  be  a  dark  temptation 
Of  the  Evil  One,  or  God's  inspiration, 
We  in  our  blindness  cannot  say. 
We  must  think  upon  it,  and  pray ; 
For  evil  and  good  it  both  resembles. 
If  it  be  of  God,  his  will  be  done ! 
May  he  guard  us  from  the  Evil  One ! 
How  hot  thy  hand  is  !  how  it  trembles  ! 
Go  to  thy  bed,  and  try  to  sleep. 

URSULA. 

Kiss  me.     Good  night ;  and  do  not  weep  ! 

ELSIE  goes  out. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  77 

Ah,  what  an  awful  thing  is  this ! 

I  almost  shuddered  at  her  kiss, 

As  if  a  ghost  had  touched  my  cheek, 

I  am  so  childish  and  so  weak ! 

As  soon  as  I  see  the  earliest  gray 

Of  morning  glimmer  in  the  east, 

I  will  go  over  to  the  priest, 

And  hear  what  the  good  man  has  to  say! 


78 


A   VILLAGE    CHURCH. 


A  woman  kneeling  at  the  confessional 

THE    PARISH    PRIEST,  from  Within, 

Go,  sin  no  more !     Thy  penance  o'er, 
A  new  and  better  life  begin ! 
God  maketh  thee  for  ever  free 
From  the  dominion  of  thy  sin ! 
Go,  sin  no  more !     He  will  restore 
The  peace  that  filled  thy  heart  before, 
And  pardon  thine  iniquity ! 

The  woman  goes  out.     The  Priest  comes  forth,  and  walks 
slowly  up  and  down  the  church. 

O  blessed  Lord!  how  much  I  need 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  79 

Thy  light  to  guide  me  on  my  way ! 

So  many  hands,  that,  without  heed, 

Still  touch  thy  wounds,  and  make  them  bleed ! 

So  many  feet,  that,  day  by  day, 

Still  wander  from  thy  fold  astray ! 

Unless  thou  fill  me  with  thy  light, 

I  cannot  lead  thy  flock  aright ; 

Nor,  without  thy  support,  can  bear 

The  burden  of  so  great  a  care, 

But  am  myself  a  castaway ! 

A  pause. 

The  day  is  drawing  to  its  close ; 
And  what  good  deeds,  since  first  it  rose, 
Have  I  presented,  Lord,  to  thee, 
As  offerings  of  my  ministry  ? 
What  wrong  repressed,  what  right  maintained, 
What  struggle  passed,  what  victory  gained, 
What  good  attempted  and  attained  ? 
Feeble,  at  best,  is  my  endeavor ! 
I  see,  but  cannot  reach,  the  height 


80 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 


That  lies  for  ever  in  the  light, 
And  yet  for  ever  and  for  ever, 
When  seeming  just  within  my  grasp, 
I  feel  my  feeble  hands  unclasp, 
And  sink  discouraged  into  night ! 
For  thine  own  purpose,  thou  hast  sent 
The  strife  and  the  discouragement ! 

A  pause. 

Why  stayest  thou,  Prince  of  Hoheneck  ? 
Why  keep  me  pacing  to  and  fro 
Amid  these  aisles  of  sacred  gloom, 
Counting  my  footsteps  as  I  go, 
And  marking  with  each  step  a  tomb  ? 
Why  should  the  world  for  thee  make  room, 
And  wait  thy  leisure  and  thy  beck  ? 
Thou  comest  in  the  hope  to  hear 
Some  word  of  comfort  and  of  cheer. 
What  can  I  say  ?     I  cannot  give 
The  counsel  to  do  this  and  live  ; 
But  rather,  firmly  to  deny 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  81 

The  tempter,  though  his  power  is  strong, 
And,  inaccessible  to  wrong, 
Still  like  a  martyr  live  and  die ! 

A  pause. 

The  evening  air  grows  dusk  and  brown ; 
I  must  go  forth  into  the  town, 
To  visit  beds  of  pain  and  death, 
Of  restless  limbs,  and  quivering  breath, 
And  sorrowing  hearts,  and  patient  eyes 
That  see,  through  tears,  the  sun  go  down, 
But  never  more  shall  see  it  rise. 
The  poor  in  body  and  estate, 
The  sick  and  the  disconsolate, 
Must  not  on  man's  convenience  wait. 

Goes  out. 

Enter  LUCIFER,  as  a  Priest. 
LUCIFER,  with  a  genuflexion,  mocking. 
This  is  the  Black  Pater-noster. 
God  was  my  foster, 
He  fostered  me 

6 


CW  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Under  the  book  of  the  Palm-tree ! 

St.  Michael  was  my  dame. 

He  was  born  at  Bethlehem, 

He  was  made  of  flesh  and  blood. 

God  send  me  my  right  food, 

My  right  food,  and  shelter  too, 

That  I  may  to  yon  kirk  go, 

To  read  upon  yon  sweet  book 

Which  the  mighty  God  of  heaven  shook. 

Open,  open,  hell's  gates ! 

Shut,  shut,  heaven's  gates ! 

All  the  devils  in  the  air 

The  stronger  be,  that  hear  the  Black  Prayer ! 

Looking  round  the  church. 
What  a  darksome  and  dismal  place ! 
I  wonder  that  any  man  has  the  face 
To  cah1  such  a  hole  the  House  of  the  Lord, 
And  the  Gate  of  Heaven,  —  yet  such  is  the 

word. 
Ceiling,  and  walls,  and  windows  old, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  83 

Covered  with  cobwebs,  blackened  with  mould ; 

Dust  on  the  pulpit,  dust  on  the  stairs, 

Dust  on  the  benches,  and  stalls,  and  chairs! 

The  pulpit,  from  which  such  ponderous  ser 
mons 

Have  fallen  down  on  the  brains  of  the  Ger 
mans, 

With  about  as  much  real  edification 

As  if  a  great  Bible,  bound  in  lead, 

Had  fallen,  and  struck  them  on  the  head ; 

And  I  ought  to  remember  that  sensation ! 

Here  stands  the  holy-water  stoup ! 

Holy-water  it  may  be  to  many, 

But  to  me,  the  veriest  Liquor  Gehennae  ! 

It  smells  like  a  filthy  fast-day  soup ! 

Near  it  stands  the  box  for  the  poor ; 

With  its  iron  padlock,  safe  and  sure. 

I  and  the  priest  of  the  parish  know 

Whither  all  these  charities  go ; 

Therefore,  to  keep  up  the  institution, 


84  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

I  will  add  my  little  contribution ! 

He  puts  in  money. 

Underneath  this  mouldering  tomb, 
With  statue  of  stone,  and  scutcheon  of  brass, 
Slumbers  a  great  lord  of  the  village. 
All  his  life  was  riot  and  pillage, 
But  at  length,  to  escape  the  threatened  doom 
Of  the  everlasting,  penal  fire, 
He  died  in  the  dress  of  a  mendicant  friar, 
And  bartered  his  wealth  for  a  daily  mass. 
But  all  that  afterwards  came  to  pass, 
And  whether  he  finds  it  dull  or  pleasant, 
Is  kept  a  secret  for  the  present, 
At  his  own  particular  desire. 

And  here,  in  a  corner  of  the  wall, 

Shadowy,  silent,  apart  from  all, 

With  its  awful  portal  open  wide, 

And  its  latticed  windows  on  either  side, 

And  its  step  well  worn  by  the  bended  knees 


THE   GOLDEN    LEGEND.  85 

Of  one  or  two  pious  centuries, 
Stands  the  village  confessional! 
Within  it,  as  an  honored  guest, 
I  will  sit  me  down  awhile  and  rest ! 
Seats  himself  in  the  confessional. 
Here  sits  the  priest ;  and  faint  and  low, 
Like  the  sighing  of  an  evening  breeze, 
Comes  through  these  painted  lattices 
The  ceaseless  sound  of  human  woe ; 
Here,  while  her  bosom  aches  and  throbs 
With  deep  and  agonizing  sobs, 
That  half  are  passion,  half  contrition, 
The  luckless  daughter  of  perdition 
Slowly  confesses  her  secret  shame ! 
The  time,  the  place,  the  lover's  name ! 
Here  the  grim  murderer,  with  a  groan, 
From  his  bruised  conscience  rolls  the  stone, 
Thinking  that  thus  he  can  atone 
For  ravages  of  sword  and  flame  ! 


86  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Indeed,  I  marvel,  and  marvel  greatly, 
How  a  priest  can  sit  here  so  sedately, 
Reading,  the  whole  year  out  and  in, 
Naught  but  the  catalogue  of  sin, 
And  still  keep  any  faith  whatever 
In  human  virtue !     Never !  never ! 

I  cannot  repeat  a  thousandth  part 

Of  the  horrors  and  crimes  and  sins  and  woes 

That  arise,  when  with  palpitating  throes 

The  grave-yard  in  the  human  heart 

Gives  up  its  dead,  at  the  voice  of  the  priest, 

As  if  he  were  an  archangel,  at  least. 

It  makes  a  peculiar  atmosphere, 

This  odor  of  earthly  passions  and  crimes, 

Such  as  I  like  to  breathe,  at  times, 

And  such  as  often  brings  me  here 

In  the  hottest  and  most  pestilential  season. 

To-day,  I  come  for  another  reason ; 

To  foster  and  ripen  an  evil  thought 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  87 

In  a  heart  that  is  almost  to  madness  wrought, 
And  to  make  a  murderer  out  of  a  prince, 
A  sleight  of  hand  I  learned  long  since ! 
He  comes.     In  the  twilight  he  will  not  see 
The  difference  between  his  priest  and  me ! 
In  the  same  net  was  the  mother  caught ! 

PRINCE  HENRY,  entering  and  kneeling  at  the 
confessional. 

Remorseful,  penitent,  and  lowly, 
I  come  to  crave,  O  Father  holy, 
Thy  benediction  on  my  head. 

LUCIFER. 

The  benediction  shall  be  said 
After  confession,  not  before ! 
'T  is  a  God-speed  to  the  parting  guest, 
Who  stands  already  at  the  door, 
Sandalled  with  holiness,  and  dressed 
In  garments  pure  from  earthly  stain. 
Meanwhile,  hast  thou  searched  well  thy  breast? 
Does  the  same  madness  fill  thy  brain  ? 


88  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Or  have  thy  passion  and  unrest 
Vanished  for  ever  from  thy  mind  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

By  the  same  madness  still  made  blind, 
By  the  same  passion  still  possessed, 
I  come  again  to  the  house  of  prayer, 
A  man  afflicted  and  distressed ! 
As  in  a  cloudy  atmosphere, 
Through  unseen  sluices  of  the  air, 
A  sudden  and  impetuous  wind 
Strikes  the  great  forest  white  with  fear, 
And  every  branch,  and  bough,  and  spray 
Points  all  its  quivering  leaves  one  way, 
And  meadows  of  grass,  and  fields  of  grain, 
And  the  clouds  above,  and  the  slanting  rain, 
And  smoke  from  chimneys  of  the  town, 
Yield  themselves  to  it,  and  bow  down, 
So  does  this  dreadful  purpose  press 
Onward,  with  irresistible  stress, 
And  all  my  thoughts  and  faculties, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Struck  level  by  the  strength  of  this, 
From  their  true  inclination  turn, 
And  all  stream  forward  to  Salern  ! 

LUCIFER. 

Alas !  we  are  but  eddies  of  dust, 
Uplifted  by  the  blast,  and  whirled 
Along  the  highway  of  the  world 
A  moment  only,  then  to  fall 
Back  to  a  common  level  all, 
At  the  subsiding  of  the  gust ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

O  holy  Father !  pardon  in  me 
The  oscillation  of  a  mind 
Unsteadfast,  and  that  cannot  find 
Its  centre  of  rest  and  harmony ! 
For  evermore  before  mine  eyes 
This  ghastly  phantom  flits  and  flies, 
And  as  a  madman  through  a  crowd, 
With  frantic  gestures  and  wild  cries, 
It  hurries  onward,  and  aloud 


90  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Repeats  its  awful  prophecies ! 
Weakness  is  wretchedness !     To  be  strong 
Is  to  be  happy !     I  am  weak, 
And  cannot  find  the  good  I  seek. 
Because  I  feel  and  fear  the  wrong ! 

LUCIFER. 

Be  not  alarmed !     The  Church  is  kind, 

And  in  her  mercy  and  her  meekness 

She  meets  half-way  her  children's  weakness, 

Writes  their  transgressions  in  the  dust ! 

Though  in  the  Decalogue  we  find 

The    mandate    written,     "Thou     shalt     not 

kill!" 

Yet  there  are  cases  when  we  must. 
In  war,  for  instance,  or  from  scathe 
To  guard  and  keep  the  one  true  Faith ! 
We   must    look    at    the    Decalogue    in    the 

light 

Of  an  ancient  statute,  that  was  meant 
For  a  mild  and  general  application, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  91 

To  be  understood  with  the  reservation, 
That,  in  certain  instances,  the  Right 
Must  yield  to  the  Expedient ! 
Thou  art  a  Prince.     If  thou  shouldst  die, 
What  hearts  and  hopes  would  prostrate  lie ! 
What  noble  deeds,  what  fair  renown, 
Into  the  grave  with  thee  go  down ! 
What  acts  of  valor  and  courtesy 
Remain  undone,  and  die  with  thee ! 
Thou  art  the  last  of  all  thy  race ! 
With  thee  a  noble  name  expires, 
And  vanishes  from  the  earth's  face 
The  glorious  memory  of  thy  sires ! 
She  is  a  peasant.     In  her  veins 
Flows  common  and  plebeian  blood ; 
It  is  such  as  daily  and  hourly  stains 
The  dust  and  the  turf  of  battle  plains, 
By  vassals  shed,  in  a  crimson  flood, 
Without  reserve,  and  without  reward, 
At  the  slightest  summons  of  their  lord ! 


92  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

But  thine  is  precious  ;  the  fore-appointed 
Blood  of  kings,  of  God's  anointed ! 
Moreover,  what  has  the  world  in  store 
For  one  like  her,  but  tears  and  toil  ? 
Daughter  of  sorrow,  serf  of  the  soil, 
A  peasant's  child  and  a  peasant's  wife, 
And  her  soul  within  her  sick  and  sore 
With  the  roughness  and  barrenness  of  life ! 
I  marvel  not  at  the  heart's  recoil 
From  a  fate  like  this,  in  one  so  tender, 
Nor  at  its  eagerness  to  surrender 
All  the  wretchedness,  want,  and  woe 
That  await  it  in  this  world  below, 
For  the  unutterable  splendor 
Of  the  world  of  rest  beyond  the  skies. 
So  the  Church  sanctions  the  sacrifice : 
Therefore  inhale  this  healing  balm, 
And  breathe  this  fresh  life  into  thine ; 
Accept  the  comfort  and  the  calm 
She  offers,  as  a  gift  divine ; 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  93 

Let  her  fall  down  and  anoint  thy  feet 
With  the  ointment  costly  and  most  sweet 
Of  her  young  blood,  and  thou  shalt  live. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

And  will  the  righteous  Heaven  forgive  ? 

No  action,  whether  foul  or  fair, 

Is  ever  done,  but  it  leaves  somewhere 

A  record,  written  by  fingers  ghostly, 

As  a  blessing  or  a  curse,  and  mostly 

In  the  greater  weakness  or  greater  strength 

Of  the  acts  which  follow  it,  till  at  length 

The  wrongs  of  ages  are  redressed, 

And  the  justice  of  God  made  manifest ! 

LUCIFER. 

In  ancient  records  it  is  stated 

That,  whenever  an  evil  deed  is  done, 

Another  devil  is  created 

To  scourge  and  torment  the  offending  one ! 

But  evil  is  only  good  perverted, 

And  Lucifer,  the  Bearer  of  Light, 


94  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

But  an  angel  fallen  and  deserted, 

Thrust  from  his  Father's  house  with  a  curse 

Into  the  black  and  endless  night. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

If  justice  rules  the  universe, 
From  the  good  actions  of  good  men 
Angels  of  light  should  be  begotten, 
And  thus  the  balance  restored  again. 

LUCIFER. 

Yes ;  if  the  world  were  not  so  rotten, 
And  so  given  over  to  the  Devil ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

But  this  deed,  is  it  good  or  evil  ? 

Have  I  thine  absolution  free 

To  do  it,  and  without  restriction  ? 

LUCIFER. 

Ay  ;  and  from  whatsoever  sin 

Lieth  around  it  and  within, 

From  all  crimes  in  which  it  may  involve  thee, 

I  now  release  thee  and  absolve  thee  ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  95 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Give  me  thy  holy  benediction. 

LUCIFER,  stretching  forth  his  hand  and  muttering. 

Maledictione  perpetua 

Maledicat  vos 

Pater  eternus ! 
THE  ANGEL,  with  the  ccolian  harp. 
Take  heed!  take  heed! 
Noble  art  thou  in  thy  birth, 
By  the  good  and  the  great  of  earth 
Hast  thou  been  taught ! 
Be  noble  in  every  thought 
And  in  every  deed ! 
Let  not  the  illusion  of  thy  senses 
Betray  thee  to  deadly  offences. 
Be  strong!  be  good!  be  pure! 
The  right  only  shall  endure, 
All  things  else  are  but  false  pretences ! 
I  entreat  thee,  I  implore, 
Listen  no  more 


96  THE    GOLDEN   LEGEND. 

To  the  suggestions  of  an  evil  spirit, 

That  even  now  is  there, 

Making  the  foul  seem  fair, 

And  selfishness  itself  a  virtue  and  a  merit ! 


97 


A    ROOM    IN    THE    FARM-HOUSE. 


GOTTLIEB. 

IT  is  decided !     For  many  days, 

And  nights  as  many,  we  have  had 

A  nameless  terror  in  our  breast, 

Making  us  timid,  and  afraid 

Of  God,  and  his  mysterious  ways ! 

We  have  been  sorrowful  and  sad ; 

Much  have  we  suffered,  much  have  prayed 

That  he  would  lead  us  as  is  best, 

And  show  us  what  his  will  required. 

It  is  decided ;  and  we  give 

Our  child,  O  Prince,  that  you  may  live ! 

URSULA. 

It  is  of  God.     He  has  inspired 

7 


98  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

This  purpose  in  her ;  and  through  pain, 

Out  of  a  world  of  sin  and  woe, 

He  takes  her  to  himself  again. 

The  mother's  heart  resists  no  longer ; 

With  the  Angel  of  the  Lord  in  vain 

It  wrestled,  for  he  was  the  stronger. 

GOTTLIEB. 

As  Abraham  offered  long  ago 
His  son  unto  the  Lord,  and  even 
The  Everlasting  Father  in  heaven 
Gave  his,  as  a  lamb  unto  the  slaughter, 
So  do  I  offer  up  my  daughter ! 
URSULA  hides  her  face. 

ELSIE. 

My  life  is  little, 
Only  a  cup  of  water, 
But  pure  and  limpid. 
Take  it,  O  my  Prince ! 
Let  it  refresh  you, 
Let  it  restore  you. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  99 


It  is  given  willingly, 

It  is  given  freely ; 

May  God  bless  the  gift ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

And  the  giver! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Amen! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

I  accept  it ! 

GOTTLIEB. 

Where  are  the  children  ? 

URSULA. 

They  are  already  asleep. 

GOTTLIEB. 

What  if  they  were  dead  ? 


100 


IN    THE    GARDEN. 


ELSIE. 

I  HAVE  one  thing  to  ask  of  you. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

What  is  it? 
It  is  already  granted. 

ELSIE. 

Promise  me, 

When  we  are  gone  from  here,  and  on  our  way 
Are  journeying  to  Salerno,  you  will  not, 
By  word  or  deed,  endeavor  to  dissuade  me 
And  turn  me  from  my  purpose ;  but  remember 
That  as  a  pilgrim  to  the  Holy  City 
Walks  unmolested,  and  with  thoughts  of  pardon 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  101 

Occupied  wholly,  so  would  I  approach 
The  gates  of  Heaven,  in  this  great  jubilee, 
With  my  petition,  putting  off  from  me 
All  thoughts  of  earth,  as  shoes  from  off  my  feet. 
Promise  me  this. 

PRINCE    HENEY. 

Thy  words  fall  from  thy  lips 
Like  roses  from  the  lips  of  Angelo :  and  angels 
Might  stoop  to  pick  them  up ! 

ELSIE. 

Will  you  not  promise  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

If  ever  we  depart  upon  this  journey, 
So  long  to  one  or  both  of  us,  I  promise. 

ELSIE. 

Shall  we  not  go,  then  ?     Have  you  lifted  me 
Into  the  air,  only  to  hurl  me  back 
Wounded  upon  the  ground  ?  and  offered  me 
The  waters  of  eternal  life,  to  bid  me 
Drink  the  polluted  puddles  of  this  world  ? 


102  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

O  Elsie !  what  a  lesson  thou  dost  teach  me ! 

The  life  which  is,  and  that  which  is  to  come, 

Suspended  hang  in  such  nice  equipoise 

A  breath  disturbs  the  balance ;  and  that  scale 

In  which  we  throw  our  hearts  preponderates, 

And  the  other,  like  an  empty  one,  flies  up, 

And  is  accounted  vanity  and  air ! 

To  me  the  thought  of  death  is  terrible, 

Having  such  hold  on  life.     To  thee  it  is  not 

So  much  even  as  the  lifting  of  a  latch ; 

Only  a  step  into  the  open  air 

Out  of  a  tent  already  luminous 

With  light  that  shines  through  its  transparent 

walls ! 
O  pure  in  heart !  from  thy  sweet  dust  shall 

grow 

Lilies,  upon  whose  petals  will  be  written 
"  A  ve  Maria  "  in  characters  of  gold ! 


III. 


105 


A    STREET    IN    STRASBURG. 


Night.     PRINCE  HENRY  wandering  alone,  wrapped  in  a 
cloak. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

STILL  is  the  night.     The  sound  of  feet 
Has  died  away  from  the  empty  street, 
And  like  an  artisan,  bending  down 
His  head  on  his  anvil,  the  dark  town 
Sleeps,  with  a  slumber  deep  and  sweet. 
Sleepless  and  restless,  I  alone, 
In  the  dusk  and  damp  of  these  walls  of  stone, 
Wander  and  weep  in  my  remorse ! 

CRIER  OF  THE  DEAD,  ringing  a  bell. 

Wake!  wake! 

All  ye  that  sleep ! 


106  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Pray  for  the  Dead! 
Pray  for  the  Dead ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Hark !  with  what  accents  loud  and  hoarse 

This  warder  on  the  walls  of  death 

Sends  forth  the  challenge  of  his  breath ! 

I  see  the  dead  that  sleep  in  the  grave ! 

They  rise  up  and  their  garments  wave, 

Dimly  and  spectral,  as  they  rise, 

With  the  light  of  another  world  in  their  eyes ! 

CRIER    OF    THE    DEAD. 

Wake!  wake! 
All  ye  that  sleep ! 
Pray  for  the  Dead ! 
Pray  for  the  Dead ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Why  for  the  dead,  who  are  at  rest  ? 
Pray  for  the  living,  in  whose  breast 
The  struggle  between  right  and  wrong 
Is  raging  terrible  and  strong, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  107 

As  when  good  angels  war  with  devils ! 
This  is  the  Master  of  the  Revels, 
Who,  at  Life's  flowing  feast,  proposes 
The  health  of  absent  friends,  and  pledges, 
Not  in  bright  goblets  crowned  with  roses, 
And  tinkling  as  we  touch  their  edges, 
But  with  his  dismal,  tinkling  bell, 
That  mocks  and  mimics  their  funeral  knell! 

CRIER    OF    THE    DEAD. 

Wake!  wake! 
All  ye  that  sleep ! 
Pray  for  the  Dead ! 
Pray  for  the  Dead ! 

PRINCE    HENRY 

Wake  not,  beloved !  be  thy  sleep 
Silent  as  night  is,  and  as  deep ! 
There  walks  a  sentinel  at  thy  gate 
Whose  heart  is  heavy  and  desolate, 
And  the  heavings  of  whose  bosom  number 
The  respirations  of  thy  slumber, 


108  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

As  if  some  strange,  mysterious  fate 
Had  linked  two  hearts  in  one,  and  mine 
Went  madly  wheeling  about  thine, 
Only  with  wider  and  wilder  sweep ! 

CRIER   OF   THE   DEAD,  at  a  distance. 

Wake!  wake! 
All  ye  that  sleep ! 
Pray  for  the  Dead ! 
Pray  for  the  Dead ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Lo !  with  what  depth  of  blackness  thrown 

Against  the  clouds,  far  up  the  skies 

The  walls  of  the  cathedral  rise, 

Like  a  mysterious  grove  of  stone, 

With  fitful  lights  and  shadows  blending, 

As  from  behind,  the  moon,  ascending, 

Lights  its  dim  aisles  and  paths  unknown ! 

The  wind  is  rising ;  but  the  boughs 

Rise  not  and  fall  not  with  the  wind 

That  through  their  foliage  sobs  and  soughs ; 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  109 

Only  the  cloudy  rack  behind, 

Drifting  onward,  wild  and  ragged, 

Gives  to  each  spire  and  buttress  jagged 

A  seeming  motion  undefined. 

Below  on  the  square,  an  armed  knight, 

Still  as  a  statue  and  as  white, 

Sits  on  his  steed,  and  the  moonbeams  quiver 

Upon  the  points  of  his  armor  bright 

As  on  the  ripples  of  a  river. 

He  lifts  the  visor  from  his  cheek, 

And  beckons,  and  makes  as  he  would  speak. 

WALTER  the  Minnesinger. 
Friend !  can  you  tell  me  where  alight 
Thuringia's  horsemen  for  the  night  ? 
For  I  have  lingered  in  the  rear, 
And  wander  vainly  up  and  down. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

I  am  a  stranger  in  the  town, 
As  thou  art ;  but  the  voice  I  hear 
Is  not  a  stranger  to  mine  ear. 
Thou  art  Walter  of  the  Vogelweid! 


110  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

WALTER. 

Thou  hast  guessed  rightly ;  and  thy  name 
Is  Henry  of  Hoheneck! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Ay,  the  same. 
WALTER,  embracing  him. 
Come  closer,  closer  to  my  side ! 
What  brings  thee  hither  ?    What  potent  charm 
Has  drawn  thee  from  thy  German  farm 
Into  the  old  Alsatian  city  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

A  tale  of  wonder  and  of  pity ! 

A  wretched  man,  almost  by  stealth 

Dragging  my  body  to  Salern, 

In  the  vain  hope  and  search  for  health, 

And  destined  never  to  return. 

Already  thou  hast  heard  the  rest. 

But  what  brings  thee,  thus  armed  and  dight 

In  the  equipments  of  a  knight  ? 

WALTER. 

Dost  thou  not  see  upon  my  breast 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  HI 

The  cross  of  the  Crusaders  shine  ? 
My  pathway  leads  to  Palestine. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Ah,  would  that  way  were  also  mine ! 

0  noble  poet !  thou  whose  heart 
Is  like  a  nest  of  singing-birds 
Rocked  on  the  topmost  bough  of  life, 
Wilt  thou,  too,  from  our  sky  depart, 
And  in  the  clangor  of  the  strife 
Mingle  the  music  of  thy  words  ? 

WALTER. 

My  hopes  are  high,  my  heart  is  proud, 
And  like  a  trumpet  long  and  loud, 
Thither  my  thoughts  all  clang  and  ring ! 
My  life  is  in  my  hand,  and  lo ! 

1  grasp  and  bend  it  as  a  bow, 

And  shoot  forth  from  its  trembling  string 
An  arrow,  that  shall  be,  perchance, 
Like  the  arrow  of  the  Israelite  king 
Shot  from  the  window  toward  the  east, 
That  of  the  Lord's  deliverance ! 


112  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

PRINCE    HENRY, 

My  life,  alas !  is  what  thou  seest ! 

0  enviable  fate !  to  be 

Strong,  beautiful,  and  armed  like  thee 

With  lyre  and  sword,  with  song  and  steel ; 

A  hand  to  smite,  a  heart  to  feel ! 

Thy  heart,  thy  hand,  thy  lyre,  thy  sword, 

Thou  givest  all  unto  thy  Lord ; 

While  I,  so  mean  and  abject  grown, 

Am  thinking  of  myself  alone. 

WALTER. 

Be  patient :  Time  will  reinstate 
Thy  health  and  fortunes. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

'T  is  too  late! 

1  cannot  strive  against  my  fate ! 

WALTER. 

Come  with  me ;  for  my  steed  is  weary ; 
Our  journey  has  been  long  and  dreary, 
And,  dreaming  of  his  stall,  he  dints 
With  his  impatient  hoofs  the  flints. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  113 

PRINCE    HENRY,    aside. 

I  am  ashamed,  in  my  disgrace, 
To  look  into  that  noble  face ! 
To-morrow,  Walter,  let  it  be. 

WALTER. 

To-morrow,  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
I  shall  again  be  on  my  way. 
Come  with  me  to  the  hostelry, 
For  1  have  many  things  to  say. 
Our  journey  into  Italy 
Perchance  together  we  may  make ; 
Wilt  thou  not  do  it  for  my  sake  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

A  sick  man's  pace  would  but  impede 
Thine  eager  and  impatient  speed. 
Besides,  my  pathway  leads  me  round 
To  Hirschau,  in  the  forest's  bound, 
Where  I  assemble  man  and  steed, 
And  all  things  for  my  journey's  need. 

They  go  out. 
8 


114  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

LUCIFER,  flying  over  the  city. 
Sleep,  sleep,  O  city !  till  the  light 
Wakes  you  to  sin  and  crime  again, 
Whilst  on  your  dreams,  like  dismal  rain, 
I  scatter  downward  through  the  night 
My  maledictions  dark  and  deep. 
I  have  more  martyrs  in  your  walls 
Than  God  has  ;  and  they  cannot  sleep ; 
They  are  my  bondsmen  and  my  thralls ; 
Their  wretched  lives  are  full  of  pain, 
Wild  agonies  of  nerve  and  brain ; 
And  every  heart-beat,  every  breath, 
Is  a  convulsion  worse  than  death ! 
Sleep,  sleep,  O  city !  though  within 
The  circuit  of  your  walls  there  lies 
No  habitation  free  from  sin, 
And  all  its  nameless  miseries ; 
The  aching  heart,  the  aching  head, 
Grief  for  the  living  and  the  dead, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  115 

And  foul  corruption  of  the  time, 
Disease,  distress,  and  want,  and  woe, 
And  crimes,  and  passions  that  may  grow 
Until  they  ripen  into  crime ! 


116 


SQUARE  IN  FRONT  OF  THE  CATHEDRAL. 


Easter  Sunday.  FRIAR  CUTHBERT  preaching  to  the  crowd 
from  a  pulpit  in  the  open  air.  PRINCE  HENRY  and  ELSIE 
crossing  the  square. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

THIS  is  the  day,  when  from  the  dead 
Our  Lord  arose ;  and  everywhere, 
Out  of  their  darkness  and  despair, 
Triumphant  over  fears  and  foes, 
The  hearts  of  his  disciples  rose, 
When  to  the  women,  standing  near, 
The  Angel  in  shining  vesture  said, 
"  The  Lord  is  risen  ;  he  is  not  here ! " 
And,  mindful  that  the  day  is  come, 
On  all  the  hearths  in  Christendom 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  117 

The  fires  are  quenched,  to  be  again 
Rekindled  from  the  sun,  that  high 
Is  dancing  in  the  cloudless  sky. 
The  churches  are  all  decked  with  flowers, 
The  salutations  among  men 
Are  but  the  Angel's  words  divine, 
"  Christ  is  arisen ! "  and  the  bells 
Catch  the  glad  murmur,  as  it  swells, 
And  chaunt  together  in  their  towers. 
All  hearts  are  glad ;  and  free  from  care 
The  faces  of  the  people  shine. 
See  what  a  crowd  is  in  the  square, 
Gaily  and  gallantly  arrayed ! 

ELSIE. 

Let  us  go  back ;  I  am  afraid  ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Nay,  let  us  mount  the  church-steps  here, 
Under  the  doorway's  sacred  shadow ; 
We  can  see  all  things,  and  be  freer 
From    the   crowd    that    madly    heaves    and 
presses ! 


118  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

ELSIE. 

What  a  gay  pageant !  what  bright  dresses ! 
It  looks  like  a  flower-besprinkled  meadow. 
What  is  that  yonder  on  the  square  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

A  pulpit  in  the  open  air. 

And  a  Friar,  who  is  preaching  to  the  crowd 

In  a  voice  so  deep  and  clear  and  loud, 

That,  if  we  listen,  and  give  heed, 

His  lowest  words  will  reach  the  ear. 

FRIAR  CUTHBERT,  gesticulating  and  cracking  a  posti/ion's 
whip. 

What  ho !  good  people !  do  you  not  hear  ? 

Dashing  along  at  the  top  of  his  speed, 

Booted  and  spurred,  on  his  jaded  steed, 

A  courier  comes  with  words  of  cheer. 

Courier!  what  is  the  news,  I  pray? 

"  Christ    is    arisen ! "      Whence    come    you  ? 

"  From  court." 

Then  I  do  not  believe  it ;  you  say  it  in  sport. 
Cracks  his  whip  again. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  119 

Ah,  here  comes  another,  riding  this  way ; 
We  soon  shall  know  what  he  has  to  say. 
Courier !  what  are  the  tidings  to-day  ? 
"  Christ    is    arisen  !  "      Whence   come    you  ? 

"  From  town." 
Then  I  do  not  believe  it;   away  with  you, 

clown. 

Cracks  his  whip  more  violently. 
And    here    comes    a   third,   who   is    spurring 

amain ; 

What  news  do  you  bring,  with  your  loose- 
hanging  rein, 
Your  spurs  wet  with  blood,  and  your  bridle 

with  foam  ? 
"  Christ    is    arisen !  "      Whence   come    you  ? 

"From  Rome." 

Ah,  now  I  believe.     He  is  risen,  indeed. 
Ride  on  with  the  news,  at  the  top  of  your 

speed ! 

Great  applause  among  the  crowd. 


120  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

To  come  back  to  my  text !     When  the  news 

was  first  spread 

That  Christ  was  arisen  indeed  from  the  dead, 
Very   great   was    the    joy   of    the   angels   in 

heaven ; 
And  as  great  the  dispute  as  to  who  should 

carry 

The  tidings  thereof  to  the  Virgin  Mary, 
Pierced  to  the  heart  with  sorrows  seven. 
Old  Father  Adam  was  first  to  propose, 
As  being  the  author  of  all  our  woes ; 
But  he  was  refused,  for  fear,  said  they, 
He  would  stop  to  eat  apples  on  the  way ! 
Abel  came  next,  but  petitioned  in  vain, 
Because  he  might  meet  with  his  brother  Cain ! 
Noah,  too,  was  refused,  lest  his  weakness  for 

wine 

Should  delay  him  at  every  tavern-sign  ; 
And  John  the  Baptist  could  not  get  a  vote, 
On  account  of  his  old-fashioned,  camel's-hair 

coat; 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  121 

And  the  Penitent  Thief,  who  died  on  the  cross, 
Was  reminded  that  all  his  bones  were  broken ! 
Till  at  last,  when  each  in  turn  had  spoken, 
The  company  being  still  at  a  loss, 
The  Angel,  who  rolled  away  the  stone, 
Was  sent  to  the  sepulchre,  all  alone, 
And  filled  with  glory  that  gloomy  prison, 
And  said  to  the  Virgin,  "  The  Lord  is  arisen ! " 

The  Cathedral  bells  ring. 

But  hark !  the  bells  are  beginning  to  chime ; 
And  I  feel  that  I  am  growing  hoarse. 
I  will  put  an  end  to  my  discourse, 
And  leave  the  rest  for  some  other  time. 
For  the  bells  themselves  are  the  best  of  preach 
ers; 

Their  brazen  lips  are  learned  teachers, 
From  their  pulpits  of  stone,  in  the  upper  air, 
Sounding  aloft,  without  crack  or  flaw, 
Shriller  than  trumpets  under  the  Law, 
Now  a  sermon  and  now  a  prayer. 


122  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

The  clangorous  hammer  is  the  tongue, 
This  way,  that  way,  beaten  and  swung, 
That  from  mouth  of  brass,  as  from  Mouth  of 

Gold, 

May  be  taught  the  Testaments,  New  and  Old. 
And  above  it  the  great  cross-beam  of  wood 
Representeth  the  Holy  Rood, 
Upon  which,  like  the  bell,  our  hopes  are  hung. 
And  the  wheel  wherewith  it  is  swayed  and 

rung 

Is  the  mind  of  man,  that  round  and  round 
Sways,  and  maketh  the  tongue  to  sound ! 
And  the  rope,  with  its  twisted  cordage  three, 
Denoteth  the  Scriptural  Trinity 
Of  Morals,  and  Symbols,  and  History; 
And  the  upward  and  downward  motions  show 
That  we  touch  upon  matters  high  and  low ; 
And  the  constant  change  and  transmutation 
Of  action  and  of  contemplation, 
Downward,  the  Scripture  brought  from  on  high, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 


Upward,  exalted  again  to  the  sky  ; 
Downward,  the  literal  interpretation, 
Upward,  the  Vision  and  Mystery! 

And  now,  my  hearers,  to  make  an  end, 

I  have  only  one  word  more  to  say  ; 

In  the  church,  in  honor  of  Easter  day, 

Will  be  represented  a  Miracle  Play  ; 

And  I  hope  you  will  all  have  the  grace  to  at 

tend. 

Christ  bring  us  at  last  to  his  felicity  ! 
Pax  vobiscum  !  et  Benedicite  ! 


124 


IN    THE    CATHEDRAL. 


CHAI7NT. 

Kyrie  Eleison! 
Christe  Eleison! 

ELSIE. 

I  am  at  home  here  in  my  Father's  house ! 
These  paintings  of  the  Saints  upon  the  walls 
Have  all  familiar  and  benignant  faces. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

The  portraits  of  the  family  of  God ! 
Thine  own   hereafter  shall  be  placed  among 
them. 

ELSIE. 

How  very  grand  it  is  and  wonderful  I 
Never  have  I  beheld  a  church  so  splendid ! 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  125 

Such   columns,    and    such    arches,    and   such 

windows, 

So  many  tombs  and  statues  in  the  chapels, 
And  under  them  so  many  confessionals. 
They  must  be  for  the  rich.     I  should  not  like 
To  tell  my  sins  in  such  a  church  as  this. 
Who  built  it? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

A  great  master  of  his  craft, 
Erwin  von  Steinbach ;  but  not  he  alone, 
For  many  generations  labored  with  him. 
Children   that   came  to   see   these    Saints  in 

stone, 

As  day  by  day  out  of  the  blocks  they  rose, 
Grew  old  and  died,  and  still  the  work  went  on, 
And  on,  and  on,  and  is  not  yet  completed. 
The  generation  that  succeeds  our  own 
Perhaps  may  finish  it.     The  architect 
Built    his   great   heart   into   these   sculptured 

stones, 


126  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

And  with  him  toiled  his  children,  and  their  lives 
Were  builded,  with  his  own,  into  the  walls, 
As  offerings  unto  God.     You  see  that  statue 
Fixing  its  joyous,  but  deep-wrinkled  eyes 
Upon  the  Pillar  of  the  Angels  yonder. 
That  is  the  image  of  the  master,  carved 
By  the  fair  hand  of  his  own  child,  Sabina. 

ELSIE. 

How  beautiful  is  the  column  that  he  looks  at ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

That,  too,  she  sculptured.     At  the  base  of  it 
Stand  the  Evangelists ;  above  their  heads 
Four  Angels  blowing  upon  marble  trumpets, 
And  over  them  the  blessed  Christ,  surrounded 
By  his  attendant  ministers,  upholding 
The  instruments  of  his  passion. 

ELSIE. 

O  my  Lord! 

Would  I  could  leave  behind  me  upon  earth 
Some  monument  to  thy  glory,  such  as  this ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  127 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

A  greater  monument  than  this  thou  leavest 
In  thine  own  life,  all  purity  and  love  ! 
See,  too,  the  Rose,  above  the  western  portal 
Flamboyant  with  a  thousand  gorgeous  colors, 
The  perfect  flower  of  Gothic  loveliness ! 

ELSIE. 

And,  in  the  gallery,  the  long  line  of  statues, 
Christ  with  his  twelve  Apostles  watching  us. 

A  BISHOP  in  armor,  booted  and  spurred,  passes  with  his 
train. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

But  come  away ;  we  have  not  time  to  look. 
The  crowd  already  fills  the  church,  and  yonder 
Upon  a  stage,  a  herald  with  a  trumpet, 
Clad  like  the  Angel  Gabriel,  proclaims 
The  Mystery  that  will  now  be  represented. 


THE     NATIVITY: 


A  MIRACLE-PLAY. 


131 


THE    NATIVITY. 


INTROITUS. 


PRJECO. 

COME,  good  people,  all  and  each, 
Come  and  listen  to  our  speech  ! 
In  your  presence  here  I  stand, 
With  a  trumpet  in  my  hand, 
To  announce  the  Easter  Play, 
Which  we  represent  to-day ! 
First  of  all  we  shall  rehearse, 
In  our  action  and  our  verse, 
The  Nativity  of  our  Lord, 
As  written  in  the  old  record 


132  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Of  the  Protevangelion, 

So  that  he  who  reads  may  run ! 

Slows  his  trumpet. 


I.     HEAVEN. 

MERCY,  at  the  feet  of  God. 
Have  pity.  Lord !  be  not  afraid 
To  save  mankind,  whom  thou  hast  made, 
Nor  let  the  souls  that  were  betrayed 
Perish  eternally ! 

JUSTICE. 

It  cannot  be,  it  must  not  be ! 
When  in  the  garden  placed  by  thee, 
The  fruit  of  the  forbidden  tree 
He  ate,  and  he  must  die ! 

MERCY. 

Have  pity,  Lord !  let  penitence 
Atone  for  disobedience, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  133 

Nor  let  the  fruit  of  man's  offence 
Be  endless  misery ! 

JUSTICE. 

What  penitence  proportionate 
Can  e'er  be  felt  for  sin  so  great  ? 
Of  the  forbidden  fruit  he  ate, 

And  damned  must  he  be ! 

GOD. 

He  shall  be  saved,  if  that  within 
The  bounds  of  earth  one  free  from  sin 
Be  found,  who  for  his  kith  and  kin 

Will  suffer  martyrdom. 

THE    FOUR   VIRTUES. 

Lord !  we  have  searched  the  world  around, 
From  centre  to  the  utmost  bound, 
But  no  such  mortal  can  be  found ; 
Despairing,  back  we  come. 

WISDOM. 

No  mortal,  but  a  God  made  man, 
Can  ever  carry  out  this  plan, 


134  THE   GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Achieving  what  none  other  can. 
Salvation  unto  all ! 

GOD. 

Go,  then,  O  my  beloved  Son ! 

It  can  by  thee  alone  be  done ; 

By  thee  the  victory  shall  be  won 
O'er  Satan  and  the  Fall! 

Here  the  ANGEL  GABRIEL  shall  leave  Paradise  and  fly  to 
wards  the  earth;  the  jaws  of  Hell  open  below,  and  the 
Devils  walk  about,  making  a  great  noise. 


II.  MARY  AT  THE  WELL. 
MARY. 

Along  the  garden  walk,  and  thence 
Through  the  wicket  in  the  garden  fence, 

I  steal  with  quiet  pace, 
My  pitcher  at  the  well  to  fill, 
That  lies  so  deep  and  cool  and  still 

In  this  sequestered  place. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  135 

These  sycamores  keep  guard  around ; 
I  see  no  face,  I  hear  no  sound, 

Save  bubblings  of  the  spring, 
And  my  companions,  who  within 
The  threads  of  gold  and  scarlet  spin, 

And  at  their  labor  sing. 

THE    ANGEL    GABRIEL. 

Hail,  Virgin  Mary,  full  of  grace ! 

Here  MARY  looketh  around  her,  trembling,  and  then  saith : 
MARY. 

Who  is  it  speaketh  in  this  place, 
With  such  a  gentle  voice  ? 

GABRIEL. 

The  Lord  of  heaven  is  with  thee  now ! 
Blessed  among  all  women  thou, 
Who  art  his  holy  choice ! 

MARY,  setting  down  the  pitcher. 
What  can  this  mean  ?     No  one  is  near, 
And  yet,  such  sacred  words  I  hear, 
I  almost  fear  to  stay. 


136  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Here  the  ANGEL,  appearing  to  her,  shall  say : 

GABRIEL. 

Fear  not,  O  Mary !  but  believe ! 
For  thou,  a  Virgin,  shalt  conceive 
A  child  this  very  day. 

Fear  not,  O  Mary !  from  the  sky 
The  majesty  of  the  Most  High 
Shall  overshadow  thee ! 

MARY. 

Behold  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord ! 
According  to  thy  holy  word, 
So  be  it  unto  me ! 

Here  the  Devils  shall  again  make  a  great  noise,  under  the 
stage. 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  137 


III.  THE  ANGELS  OF  THE  SEVEN  PLANETS, 

bearing  the  Star  of  Bethlehem. 

THE    ANGELS. 

The  Angels  of  the  Planets  Seven, 
Across  the  shining  fields  of  heaven 

The  natal  star  we  bring ! 
Dropping  our  sevenfold  virtues  down, 
As  priceless  jewels  in  the  crown 

Of  Christ,  our  new-born  King. 

RAPHAEL. 

I  am  the  Angel  of  the  Sun, 
Whose  flaming  wheels  began  to  run 

When  God's  almighty  breath 
Said  to  the  darkness  and  the  Night, 
Let  there  be  light !  and  there  was  light ! 

I  bring  the  gift  of  Faith. 

GABRIEL. 

I  am  the  Angel  of  the  Moon, 
Darkened,  to  be  rekindled  soon 
Beneath  the  azure  cope  ! 


138  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Nearest  to  earth,  it  is  my  ray 
That  best  illumes  the  midnight  way. 
T  bring  the  gift  of  Hope ! 

ANAEL. 

The  Angel  of  the  Star  of  Love, 
The  Evening  Star,  that  shines  above 

The  place  where  lovers  be, 
Above  all  happy  hearths  and  homes, 
On  roofs  of  thatch,  or  golden  domes, 

I  give  him  Charity ! 

ZOBIACIIEL. 

The  Planet  Jupiter  is  mine ! 

The  mightiest  star  of  all  that  shine, 

Except  the  sun  alone ! 
He  is  the  High  Priest  of  the  Dove, 
And  sends,  from  his  great  throne  above, 

Justice,  that  shall  atone ! 

MICHAEL. 

The  Planet  Mercury,  whose  place 
Is  nearest  to  the  sun  in  space, 
Is  my  allotted  sphere ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  139 

And  with  celestial  ardor  swift 
I  bear  upon  my  hands  the  gift 
Of  heavenly  Prudence  here ! 

URIEL. 

I  am  the  Minister  of  Mars, 

The  strongest  star  among  the  stars ! 

My  songs  of  power  prelude 
The  march  and  battle  of  man's  life, 
And  for  the  suffering  and  the  strife, 

I  give  him  Fortitude ! 

ANACHIEL. 

The  Angel  of  the  uttermost 

Of  all  the  shining,  heavenly  host, 

From  the  far-off  expanse 
Of  the  Saturnian,  endless  space 
I  bring  the  last,  the  crowning  grace, 

The  gift  of  Temperance ! 

A  sudden  light  shines  from  the  windows  of  the  stable  in  the 
village  Mow. 


140  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 


IV.  THE  WISE  MEN  OF  THE  EAST. 

The  stable  of  the  Inn.  The  VIRGIN  and  CHILD.  Three 
Gypsy  Kings,  GASPAR,  MELCHIOR,  and  BELSHAZZAR, 
shall  come  in. 

GASPAR. 

Hail  to  thee,  Jesus  of  Nazareth  ! 

Though  in  a  manger  thou  drawest  thy  breath, 

Thou  art  greater  than  Life  and  Death, 

Greater  than  Joy  or  Woe ! 
This  cross  upon  the  line  of  life 
Portendeth  struggle,  toil,  and  strife, 
And  through  a  region  with  dangers  rife 

In  darkness  shalt  thou  go ! 

MELCHIOR. 

Hail  to  thee,  King  of  Jerusalem ! 
Though  humbly  born  in  Bethlehem, 
A  sceptre  and  a  diadem 

Await  thy  brow  and  hand ! 
The  sceptre  is  a  simple  reed, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  141 

The  crown  will  make  thy  temples  bleed, 
And  in  thy  hour  of  greatest  need, 
Abashed  thy  subjects  stand! 

BELSHAZZAR. 

Hail  to  thee,  Christ  of  Christendom ! 
O'er  all  the  earth  thy  kingdom  come ! 
From  distant  Trebizond  to  Rome 

Thy  name  shall  men  adore ! 
Peace  and  good-will  among  all  men, 
The  Virgin  has  returned  again, 
Returned  the  old  Saturnian  reign 

And  Golden  Age  once  more. 

THE    CHILD    CHRIST. 

Jesus,  the  Son  of  God,  am  I, 
Born  here  to  suffer  and  to  die 
According  to  the  prophecy, 
That  other  men  may  live ! 

THE    VIRGIN. 

And  now  these  clothes,  that  wrapped  him,  take 
And  keep  them  precious,  for  his  sake ; 


142  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Our  benediction  thus  we  make, 
Naught  else  have  we  to  give. 

She  gives  them  swaddling-clothes,  and  they  depart. 


V.    THE    FLIGHT    INTO    EGYPT. 

Here  shall  JOSEPH  come  in,  leading  an  ass,  on  which  are. 
seated  MARY  and  the  CHILD. 

MARY. 

Here  will  we  rest  us,  under  these 
O'erhanging  branches  of  the  trees, 
Where  robins  chant  their  Litanies, 

And  canticles  of  joy. 

JOSEPH. 

My  saddle-girths  have  given  way 
With  trudging  through  the  heat  to-day; 
To  you  I  think  it  is  but  play 

To  ride  and  hold  the  boy. 

MARY. 

Hark!  how  the  robins  shout  and  sing, 
As  if  to  hail  their  infant  King! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  143 

I  will  alight  at  yonder  spring 
To  wash  his  little  coat. 

JOSEPH. 

And  I  will  hobble  well  the  ass, 
Lest,  being  loose  upon  the  grass, 
He  should  escape ;  for,  by  the  mass, 
He  is  nimble  as  a  goat. 

Here  MARY  shall  alight  and  go  to  the  spring. 

MARY. 

0  Joseph !     I  am  much  afraid, 
For  men  are  sleeping  in  the  shade ; 

1  fear  that  we  shall  be  waylaid, 

And  robbed  and  beaten  sore ! 

Here  a  band  of  robbers  shall  be  seen  sleeping,  two  of  whom 
shall  rise  and  come  forward. 

DUMACHUS. 

Cock's  soul !  deliver  up  your  gold ! 

JOSEPH. 

I  pray  you,  Sirs,  let  go  your  hold ! 
Of  wealth  I  have  no  store. 


144  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

DUMACHUS. 

Give  up  your  money ! 

TITUS. 

Prithee  cease ! 
Let  these  good  people  go  in  peace ! 

DUMACHUS. 

First  let  them  pay  for  their  release, 
And  then  go  on  their  way. 

TITUS. 

These  forty  groats  I  give  in  fee, 
If  thou  wilt  only  silent  be. 

MARY. 

May  God  be  merciful  to  thee 
Upon  the  Judgment  Day ! 

JESUS. 

When  thirty  years  shall  have  gone  by, 

I  at  Jerusalem  shall  die, 

By  Jewish  hands  exalted  high 

On  the  accursed  tree. 
Then  on  my  right  and  my  left  side, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  145 

These  thieves  shall  both  be  crucified, 
And  Titus  thenceforth  shall  abide 

In  paradise  with  me. 
Here  a  great  rumor  of  trumpets  and  horses,  like  the  noise  of 

a  king  with  his  army,  and  the  robbers  shall  takejlight. 


VI.     THE    SLAUGHTER    OF    THE    INNOCENTS. 
KING    HEROD. 

Potz-tausend !     Himmel-sacrament ! 
Filled  am  I  with  great  wonderment 

At  this  unwelcome  news ! 
Am  I  not  Herod  ?     Who  shall  dare 
My  crown  to  take,  my  sceptre  bear, 

As  king  among  the  Jews  ? 
Here  he  shall  stride  up  and  down  and  flourish  his  sword. 

What  ho !     I  fain  would  drink  a  can 
Of  the  strong  wine  of  Canaan ! 
The  wine  of  Helbon  bring, 
10 


146  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

I  purchased  at  the  Fair  of  Tyre, 
As  red  as  blood,  as  hot  as  fire, 
And  fit  for  any  king ! 

He  quaffs  great  goblets  of  wine. 

Now  at  the  window  will  I  stand, 
While  in  the  street  the  armed  band 

The  little  children  slay : 
The  babe  just  born  in  Bethlehem 
Will  surely  slaughtered  be  with  them, 

Nor  live  another  day ! 

Here  a  voice  of  lamentation  shall  be  heard  in  the  street. 

RACHEL. 

O  wicked  king !     O  cruel  speed ! 
To  do  this  most  unrighteous  deed ! 

My  children  all  are  slain! 

HEROD. 

Ho  seneschal !  another  cup ! 
With  wine  of  Sorek  fill  it  up ! 

I  would  a  bumper  drain ! 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  147 

RAHAB. 

May  maledictions  fall  and  blast 
Thyself  and  lineage,  to  the  last 
Of  all  thy  kith  and  kin ! 

HEROD. 

Another  goblet !  quick !  and  stir 
Pomegranate  juice  and  drops  of  myrrh 

And  calamus  therein ! 

SOLDIERS,  in  the  street. 
Give  up  thy  child  into  our  hands ! 
It  is  King  Herod  who  commands 

That  he  should  thus  be  slain ! 

THE    NURSE    MEDUSA. 

O  monstrous  men !     What  have  ye  done ! 
It  is  King  Herod's  only  son 

That  ye  have  cleft  in  twain ! 

HEROD. 

Ah,  luckless  day!     What  words  of  fear 
Are  these  that  smite  upon  my  ear 

With  such  a  doleful  sound ! 


148  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

What  torments  rack  my  heart  and  head ! 
Would  I  were  dead !  would  I  were  dead, 
And  buried  in  the  ground ! 

He  falls  down  and  writhes  as  though  eaten  by  worms.  Hell 
opens,  and  SATAN  and  ASTAROTH  come  forth,  and  drag 
him  down. 


VII.    JESUS    AT   PLAY   WITH    HIS    SCHOOLMATES. 

JESUS. 

The  shower  is  over.     Let  us  play, 
And  make  some  sparrows  out  of  clay, 
Down  by  the  river's  side. 

JUDAS. 

See,  how  the  stream  has  overflowed 
Its  banks,  and  o'er  the  meadow  road 
Is  spreading  far  and  wide ! 

They  draw  water  out  of  the  river  by  channels,  and  form 
little  pools.  JESUS  makes  twelve  sparrows  of  clay,  and 
the  other  boys  do  the  same. 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  149 

JESUS. 

Look !  look !  how  prettily  I  make 
These  little  sparrows  by  the  lake 

Bend  down  their  necks  and  drink ! 
Now  will  I  make  them  sing  and  soar 
So  far,  they  shall  return  no  more 

Unto  this  river's  brink. 

JUDAS. 

That  canst  thou  not !     They  are  but  clay, 
They  cannot  sing,  nor  fly  away 
Above  the  meadow  lands ! 

JESUS. 

Fly,  fly !  ye  sparrows !  you  are  free ! 
And  while  you  live,  remember  me, 
Who  made  you  with  my  hands. 

Here  JESUS  shall  clap  his  hands,  and  the  sparrows  shall  fly 
away,  chirruping. 

JUDAS. 

Thou  art  a  sorcerer,  I  know ; 
Oft  has  my  mother  told  me  so, 
I  will  not  play  with  thee  ! 


150  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

He  strikes  JESUS  on  the  right  side. 

JESUS. 

Ah,  Judas !  thou  hast  smote  my  side, 
And  when  I  shall  be  crucified, 
There  shall  I  pierced  be ! 

Here  JOSEPH  shall  come  in,  and  say  : 

JOSEPH. 

Ye  wicked  boys !  why  do  ye  play, 
And  break  the  holy  Sabbath  day  ? 
What,  think  ye,  will  your  mothers  say 

To  see  you  in  such  plight ! 
In  such  a  sweat  and  such  a  heat, 
With  all  that  mud  upon  your  feet ! 
There  's  not  a  beggar  in  the  street 

Makes  such  a  sorry  sight ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  151 


VIII.      THE    VILLAGE    SCHOOL. 

The  RABBI  BEN  ISRAEL,  with  a  long  beard,  sitting  on  a 
high  stool,  with  a  rod  in  his  hand. 

RABBI. 

I  am  the  Rabbi  Ben  Israel, 
Throughout  this  village  known  full  well, 
And,  as  my  scholars  all  will  tell, 

Learned  in  things  divine ; 
The  Kabala  and  Talmud  hoar 
Than  all  the  prophets  prize  I  more, 
For  water  is  all  Bible  lore, 

But  Mishna  is  strong  wine. 

My  fame  extends  from  West  to  East, 
And  always,  at  the  Purim  feast, 
I  am  as  drunk  as  any  beast 
That  wallows  in  his  sty ; 
The  wine  it  so  elateth  me, 
That  I  no  difference  can  see 


152  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Between  "  Accursed  Haman  be ! " 
And  «  Blessed  be  Mordecai ! " 

Come  hither,  Judas  Iscariot. 
Say,  if  thy  lesson  thou  hast  got 
From  the  Rabbinical  Book  or  not. 
Why  howl  the  dogs  at  night  ? 

JUDAS. 

In  the  Rabbinical  Book,  it  saith 
The  dogs  howl,  when  with  icy  breath 
Great  Sammael,  the  Angel  of  Death, 
Takes  through  the  town  his  flight ! 

RABBI. 

Well,  boy !  now  say,  if  thou  art  wise, 
When  the  Angel  of  Death,  who  is  full  of  eyes, 
Comes  where  a  sick  man  dying  lies, 
What  doth  he  to  the  wight  ? 

JUDAS. 

He  stands  beside  him,  dark  and  tall, 
Holding  a  sword,  from  which  doth  fall 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  153 

Into  his  mouth  a  drop  of  gall, 
And  so  he  turneth  white. 

RABBI. 

And  now,  my  Judas,  say  to  me 
What  the  great  Voices  Four  may  be, 
That  quite  across  the  world  do  flee, 
And  are  not  heard  by  men  ? 

JUDAS. 

The  Voice  of  the  Sun  in  heaven's  dome, 
The  Voice  of  the  Murmuring  of  Rome, 
The  Voice  of  a  Soul  that  goeth  home, 
And  the  Angel  of  the  Rain ! 

RABBI. 

"Well  have  ye  answered  every  one ! 
Now  little  Jesus,  the  carpenter's  son, 
Let  us  see  how  thy  task  is  done. 
Canst  thou  thy  letters  say  ? 

JESUS. 

Aleph. 

RABBI. 

What  next  ?     Do  not  stop  yet ! 


154  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Go  on  with  all  the  alphabet. 
Come,  Aleph,  Beth ;  dost  thou  forget  ? 
Cock's  soul !  thou  'dst  rather  play ! 

JESUS. 

What  Aleph  means  I  fain  would  know, 
Before  I  any  farther  go ! 

RABBI. 

O,  by  Saint  Peter !  wouldst  thou  so  ? 

Come  hither,  boy,  to  me. 
As  surely  as  the  letter  Jod 
Once  cried  aloud,  and  spake  to  God, 
So  surely  shalt  thou  feel  this  rod, 

And  punished  shalt  thou  be ! 
Here  RABBI   BEN   ISRAEL  shall  lift  up  his  rod  to  strike 
JESUS,  and  his  right  arm  shall,  be  paralyzed. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  155 


IX.    CROWNED    WITH    FLOWERS. 

JESUS  sitting  among  his  playmates,  crowned  with  flowers 

as  their  King, 

BOYS. 

We  spread  our  garments  on  the  ground ! 
With  fragrant  flowers  thy  head  is  crowned, 
While  like  a  guard  we  stand  around, 

And  hail  thee  as  our  King ! 
Thou  art  the  new  King  of  the  Jews ! 
Nor  let  the  passers-by  refuse 
To  bring  that  homage  which  men  use 

To  majesty  to  bring. 

Here  a  traveller  shall  go  by,  and  the  boys  shall  lay  hold 
of  his  garments  and  say: 

BOYS. 

Come  hither !  and  all  reverence  pay 
Unto  our  monarch,  crowned  to-day! 
Then  go  rejoicing  on  your  way, 
In  all  prosperity ! 


156  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

TRAVELLER. 

Hail  to  the  King  of  Bethlehem, 
Who  weareth  in  his  diadem 
The  yellow  crocus  for  the  gem 
Of  his  authority! 

He  passes  by;   and  others  come  in,  bearing  on  a  litter  a 
sick  child. 

BOYS. 

Set  down  the  litter  and  draw  near ! 
The  King  of  Bethlehem  is  here ! 
What  ails  the  child,  who  seems  to  fear 
That  we  shall  do  him  harm  ? 

THE    BEARERS. 

He  climbed  up  to  the  robin's  nest, 
And  out  there  darted,  from  his  rest, 
A  serpent  with  a  crimson  crest, 
And  stung  him  in  the  arm. 

JESUS. 

Bring  him  to  me,  and  let  me  feel 

The  wounded  place ;  my  touch  can  heal 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  157 

The  sting  of  serpents,  and  can  steal 

The  poison  from  the  bite ! 

He  touches  the  wound,  and  the  boy  begins  to  cry. 
Cease  to  lament !     I  can  foresee 
That  thou  hereafter  known  shalt  be, 
Among  the  men  who  follow  me, 

As  Simon  the  Canaanite ! 


158  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 


EPILOGUE. 

In  the  after  part  of  the  day 
Will  be  represented  another  play, 
Of  the  Passion  of  our  Blessed  Lord, 
Beginning  directly  after  Nones ! 
At  the  close  of  which  we  shall  accord, 
By  way  of  benison  and  reward, 
The  sight  of  a  holy  Martyr's  bones ! 


IV. 


161 


THE    ROAD    TO    IIIRSCHAU. 


PRINCE  HENRY  and  ELSIE,  with  their  attendants,  on 

horseback. 

ELSIE. 

ONWARD  and  onward  the  highway  runs  to  the 
distant  city,  impatiently  bearing 

Tidings  of  human  joy  and  disaster,  of  love 
and  of  hate,  of  doing  and  daring ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

This  life  of  ours  is  a  wild  seolian  harp  of  many 

a  joyous  strain, 
But  under  them  all  there  runs  a  loud  perpetual 

wail,  as  of  souls  in  pain. 
11 


162  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

ELSIE. 

Faith  alone  can  interpret  life,  and  the  heart 
that  aches  and  bleeds  with  the  stigma 

Of  pain,  alone  bears  the  likeness  of  Christ, 
and  can  comprehend  its  dark  enigma. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Man  is  selfish,  and  seeketh  pleasure  with  little 

care  of  what  may  betide ; 
Else  why  am  I  travelling  here  beside  thee,  a 

demon  that  rides  by  an  angel's  side  ? 

ELSIE. 

All  the  hedges  are  white  with  dust,  and  the 
great  dog  under  the  creaking  wain 

Hangs  his  head  in  the  lazy  heat,  while  onward 
the  horses  toil  and  strain. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Now  they  stop  at  the  way-side  inn,  and  the  wag 
oner  laughs  with  the  landlord's  daughter, 

While  out  of  the  dripping  trough  the  horses  dis 
tend  their  leathern  sides  with  water. 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  163 

ELSIE. 

All  through  life  there  are  way-side  inns,  where 
man  may  refresh  his  soul  with  love ; 

Even  the  lowest  may  quench  his  thirst  at  rivu 
lets  fed  by  springs  from  above. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Yonder,  where  rises  the  cross  of  stone,  our  jour 
ney  along  the  highway  ends, 

And  over  the  fields,  by  a  bridle  path,  down  into 
the  broad  green  valley  descends. 

ELSIE. 

I  am  not  sorry  to  leave  behind  the  beaten  road 

with  its  dust  and  heat ; 

The  air  will  be  sweeter  far,  and  the  turf  will  be 
softer  under  our  horses'  feet. 

They  turn  down  a  green  lane. 
ELSIE. 

Sweet  is  the  air  with  the  budding  haws,  and 
the  valley  stretching  for  miles  below 

Is  white  with  blossoming  cherry-trees,  as  if 
just  covered  with  lightest  snow. 


164  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Over  our  heads  a  white  cascade  is  gleaming 

O  o 

against  the  distant  hill ; 

We  cannot  hear  it,  nor  see  it  move,  but  it 
hangs  like  a  banner  when  winds  are  still. 

ELSIE. 

Damp  and  cool  is  this  deep  ravine,  and  cool 
the  sound  of  the  brook  by  our  side ! 

What  is  this  castle  that  rises  above  us,  and 
lords  it  over  a  land  so  wide  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

It  is  the  home  of  the  Counts  of  Calva ;  well 
have  I  known  these  scenes  of  old, 

Well  I  remember  each  tower  and  turret,  remem 
ber  the  brooklet,  the  wood,  and  the  wold. 

ELSIE. 

Hark !  from  the  little  village  below  us  the  bells 
of  the  church  are  ringing  for  rain ! 

Priests  and  peasants  in  long  procession  come 
forth  and  kneel  on  the  arid  plain. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  165 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

They  have  not  long  to  wait,  for  I  see  in  the 

south  uprising  a  little  cloud, 
That  before  the  sun  shall  be  set  will  cover  the 

sky  above  us  as  with  a  shroud. 

They  pass  on. 


166 


THE  CONVENT  OF  HIRSCHAU  IN  THE  BLACK  FOREST. 


The  Convent  cellar.    FRIAR    CLAUS  comes  in  with  a  light 
and  a  basket  of  empty  flagons. 

FRIAR    CLAUS. 

I  ALWAYS  enter  this  sacred  place 

With  a  thoughtful,  solemn,  and  reverent  pace, 

Pausing  long  enough  on  each  stair 

To  breathe  an  ejaculatory  prayer, 

And  a  benediction  on  the  vines 

That  produce  these  various  sorts  of  wines ! 

For  my  part,  I  am  well  content 

That  we  have  got  through  with  the  tedious 

Lent! 
Fasting  is  all  very  well  for  those 


THE   GOLDEN    LEGEND.  167 

Who  have  to  contend  with  invisible  foes ; 

But  I  am  quite  sure  it  does  not  agree 

With  a  quiet,  peaceable  man  like  me, 

Who  am  not  of  that  nervous  and  meagre  kind 

That  are  always  distressed  in  body  and  mind ! 

And  at  times  it  really  does  me  good 

To  come  down  among  this  brotherhood, 

Dwelling  for  ever  under  ground, 

Silent,  contemplative,  round  and  sound ; 

Each  one  old,  and  brown  with  mould, 

But  filled  to  the  lips  with  the  ardor  of  youth, 

With  the  latent  power  and  love  of  truth, 

And  with  virtues  fervent  and  manifold. 

I  have  heard  it  said,  that  at  Easter-tide, 
When  buds  are  swelling  on  every  side, 
And  the  sap  begins  to  move  in  the  vine, 
Then  in  all  the  cellars,  far  and  wide, 
The  oldest,  as  well  as  the  newest,  wine 
Begins  to  stir  itself,  and  ferment, 


168  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

With  a  kind  of  revolt  and  discontent 

At  being  so  long  in  darkness  pent, 

And  fain  would  burst  from  its  sombre  tun 

To  bask  on  the  hill-side  in  the  sun ; 

As  in  the  bosom  of  us  poor  friars, 

The  tumult  of  half-subdued  desires 

For  the  world  that  we  have  left  behind 

Disturbs  at  times  all  peace  of  mind ! 

And  now  that  we  have  lived  through  Lent, 

My  duty  it  is,  as  often  before, 

To  open  awhile  the  prison-door, 

And  give  these  restless  spirits  vent. 

Now  here  is  a  cask  that  stands  alone, 
And  has  stood  a  hundred  years  or  more, 
Its  beard  of  cobwebs,  long  and  hoar, 
Trailing  and  sweeping  along  the  floor, 
Like  Barbarossa,  who  sits  in  his  cave, 
Taciturn,  sombre,  sedate,  and  grave, 
Till  his  beard  has  grown  through  the  table  of 
stone ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  169 

It  is  of  the  quick  and  not  of  the  dead ! 
In  its  veins  the  blood  is  hot  and  red, 
And  a  heart  still  beats  in  those  ribs  of  oak 
That  time  may  have  tamed,  but  has  not  broke ! 
It  comes  from  Bacharach  on  the  Rhine, 
Is  one  of  the  three  best  kinds  of  wine, 
And  costs  some  hundred  florins  the  ohm ; 
But  that  I  do  not  consider  dear, 
When  I  remember  that  every  year 
Four  butts  are  sent  to  the  Pope  of  Rome. 
And  whenever  a  goblet  thereof  I  drain, 
The  old  rhyme  keeps  running  in  my  brain : 
At  Bacharach  on  the  Rhine, 
At  Hochheim  on  the  Main, 
And  at  Wiirzburg  on  the  Stein, 
Grow  the  three  best  kinds  of  wine ! 

They  are  all  good  wines,  and  better  far 
Than  those  of  the  Neckar,  or  those  of  the  Ahr 
In  particular,  Wiirzburg  well  may  boast 


170 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 


Of  its  blessed  wine  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
Which  of  all  wines  I  like  the  most. 
This  I  shall  draw  for  the  Abbot's  drinking, 
Who  seems  to  be  much  of  my  way  of  thinking. 

Fills  a  flagon. 

Ah !  how  the  streamlet  laughs  and  sings ! 
What  a  delicious  fragrance  springs 
From  the  deep  flagon,  while  it  fills, 
As  of  hyacinths  and  daffodils ! 
Between  this  cask  and  the  Abbot's  lips 
Many  have  been  the  sips  and  slips ; 
Many  have  been  the  draughts  of  wine, 
On  their  way  to  his,  that  have  stopped  at  mine ; 
And  many  a  time  my  soul  has  hankered 
For  a  deep  draught  out  of  his  silver  tankard, 
WThen  it  should  have  been  busy  with  other 

affairs, 
Less  with   its   longings   and    more   with   its 

prayers. 
But  now  there  is  no  such  awkward  condition, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  171 

No  danger  of  death  and  eternal  perdition ; 
So  here  's  to  the  Abbot  and  Brothers  all, 
Who  dwell  in  this  convent  of  Peter  and  Paul ! 

He  drinks. 

O  cordial  delicious !     O  soother  of  pain ! 
It  flashes  like  sunshine  into  my  brain ! 
A  benison  rest  on  the  Bishop  who  sends 
Such  a  fudder  of  wine  as  this  to  his  friends! 

And  now  a  flagon  for  such  as  may  ask 

A  draught  from  the  noble  Bacharach  cask, 

And  I  will  be  gone,  though  I  know  full  well 

The  cellar 's  a  cheerfuller  place  than  the  cell. 

Behold  where  he  stands,  all  sound  and  good, 

Brown  and  old  in  his  oaken  hood ; 

Silent  he  seems  externally 

As  any  Carthusian  monk  may  be  ; 

But  within,  what  a  spirit  of  deep  unrest ! 

What  a  seething  and  simmering  in  his  breast  I 

As  if  the  heaving  of  his  great  heart 


172  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Would  burst  his  belt  of  oak  apart ! 
Let  me  unloose  this  button  of  wood, 
And  quiet  a  little  his  turbulent  mood. 

Sets  it  running. 

See !  how  its  currents  gleam  and  shine, 
As  if  they  had  caught  the  purple  hues 
Of  autumn  sunsets  on  the  Rhine, 
Descending  and  mingling  with  the  dews ; 
Or  as  if  the  grapes  were  stained  with  the  blood 
Of  the  innocent  boy,  who,  some  years  back, 
"Was  taken  and  crucified  by  the  Jews, 
In  that  ancient  town  of  Bacharach ; 
Perdition  upon  those  infidel  Jews, 
In  that  ancient  town  of  Bacharach ! 
The  beautiful  town,  that  gives  us  wine 
With  the  fragrant  odor  of  Muscadine ! 
I  should  deern  it  wrong  to  let  this  pass 
Without  first  touching  my  lips  to  the  glass, 
For  here  in  the  midst  of  the  current  I  stand, 
Like  the  stone  Pfalz  in  the  midst  of  the  river, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  173 

Taking  toll  upon  either  hand. 

And  much  more  grateful  to  the  giver. 

He  drinks. 

Here,  now,  is  a  very  inferior  kind, 
Such  as  in  any  town  you  may  find, 
Such  as  one  might  imagine  would  suit 
The  rascal  who  drank  wine  out  of  a  boot. 
And,  after  all,  it  was  not  a  crime, 
For  he  won  thereby  Dorf  Hiiffelsheim. 
A  jolly  old  toper!  who  at  a  pull 
Could  drink  a  postilion's  jack-boot  full, 
And  ask  with  a  laugh,  when  that  was  done, 
If  the  fellow  had  left  the  other  one ! 
This  wine  is  as  good  as  we  can  afford 
To  the  friars,  who  sit  at  the  lower  board, 
And  cannot  distinguish  bad  from  good, 
And  are  far  better  off  than  if  they  could, 
Being  rather  the  rude  disciples  of  beer 
Than  of  any  thing  more  refined  and  dear! 
Fills  the  other  flagon  and  departs. 


174 


THE    SCRIPTORIUM. 

FRIAR    PACIFICUS   transcribing   and  illuminating. 

FRIAR   PACIFICUS. 

IT  is  growing  dark !     Yet  one  line  more, 
And  then  my  work  for  to-day  is  o'er. 
I  come  again  to  the  name  of  the  Lord ! 
Ere  I  that  awful  name  record, 
That  is  spoken  so  lightly  among  men, 
Let  me  pause  awhile,  and  wash  my  pen ; 
Pure  from  blemish  and  blot  must  it  be 
When  it  writes  that  word  of  mystery ! 

Thus  have  I  labored  on  and  on, 
Nearly  through  the  Gospel  of  John. 
Can  it  be  that  from  the  lips 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  175 

Of  this  same  gentle  Evangelist, 

That  Christ  himself  perhaps  has  kissed, 

Came  the  dread  Apocalypse ! 

It  has  a  very  awful  look, 

As  it  stands  there  at  the  end  of  the  book, 

Like  the  sun  in  an  eclipse. 

Ah  me !  when  I  think  of  that  vision  divine, 

Think  of  writing  it,  line  by  line, 

I  stand  in  awe  of  the  terrible  curse, 

Like  the  trump  of  doom,  in  the  closing  verse ! 

God  forgive  me !  if  ever  I 

Take  aught  from  the  book  of  that  Prophecy, 

Lest  my  part  too  should  be  taken  away 

From  the  Book  of  Life  on  the  Judgment  Day. 

This  is  well  written,  though  I  say  it ! 
I  should  not  be  afraid  to  display  it, 
In  open  day,  on  the  selfsame  shelf 
With  the  writings  of  St.  Thecla  herself, 
Or  of  Theodosius,  who  of  old 


176 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 


"Wrote  the  Gospels  in  letters  of  gold ! 
That  goodly  folio  standing  yonder, 
Without  a  single  blot  or  blunder. 
Would  not  bear  away  the  palm  from  mine, 
If  we  should  compare  them  line  for  line. 

There,  now,  is  an  initial  letter ! 

King  Ren£  himself  never  made  a  better ! 

Finished  down  to  the  leaf  and  the  snail, 

Down  to  the  eyes  on  the  peacock's  tail ! 

And  now,  as  I  turn  the  volume  over, 

And  see  what  lies  between  cover  and  cover, 

What  treasures  of  art  these  pages  hold, 

All  ablaze  with  crimson  and  gold, 

God  forgive  me !    I  seem  to  feel 

A  certain  satisfaction  steal 

Into  my  heart,  and  into  my  brain, 

As  if  my  talent  had  not  lain 

Wrapped  in  a  napkin,  and  all  in  vain. 

Yes,  I  might  almost  say  to  the  Lord, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  177 

Here  is  a  copy  of  thy  Word, 
Written  out  with  much  toil  and  pain  ; 
Take  it,  O  Lord,  and  let  it  be 
As  something  I  have  done  for  thee ! 

He  looks  from  the  window. 

How  sweet  the  air  is  !     How  fair  the  scene ! 
I  wish  I  had  as  lovely  a  green 
To  paint  my  landscapes  and  my  leaves ! 
How  the  swallows  twitter  under  the  eaves ! 
There,  now,  there  is  one  in  her  nest ; 
I  can  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  head  and 

breast, 

And  will  sketch  her  thus,  in  her  quiet  nook, 
For  the  margin  of  my  Gospel  book. 

He  makes  a  sketch. 

I  can  see  no  more.     Through  the  valley  yonder 
A  shower  is  passing ;  I  hear  the  thunder 
Mutter  its  curses  in  the  air, 
The  Devil's  own  and  only  prayer! 
The  dusty  road  is  brown  with  rain, 
13 


178  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

And,  speeding  on  with  might  and  main, 
Hitherward  rides  a  gallant  train. 
They  do  not  parley,  they  cannot  wait, 
But  hurry  in  at  the  convent  gate. 
What  a  fair  lady !  and  beside  her 
What  a  handsome,  graceful,  noble  rider! 
Now  she  gives  him  her  hand  to  alight ; 
They  will  beg  a  shelter  for  the  night. 
I  will  go  down  to  the  corridor, 
And  try  to  see  that  face  once  more ; 
It  will  do  for  the  face  of  some  beautiful  Saint, 
Or  for  one  of  the  Maries  I  shah1  paint. 
Goes  out. 


179 


THE    CLOISTERS. 


The  ABBOT  ERNESTUS  pacing  to  and  fro. 

ABBOT. 

SLOWLY,  slowly  up  the  wall 
Steals  the  sunshine,  steals  the  shade ; 
Evening  damps  begin  to  fall, 
Evening  shadows  are  displayed. 
Round  me,  o'er  me,  everywhere, 
All  the  sky  is  grand  with  clouds, 
And  athwart  the  evening  air 
Wheel  the  swallows  home  in  crowds. 
Shafts  of  sunshine  from  the  west 
Paint  the  dusky  windows  red ; 
Darker  shadows,  deeper  rest, 
Underneath  and  overhead. 


180  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Darker,  darker,  and  more  wan, 
In  my  breast  the  shadows  fall ; 
Upward  steals  the  life  of  man, 
As  the  sunshine  from  the  wall. 
From  the  wall  into  the  sky, 
From  the  roof  along  the  spire ; 
Ah,  the  souls  of  those  that  die 
Are  but  sunbeams  lifted  higher. 
Enter  PRINCE  HENRY. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Christ  is  arisen ! 

ABBOT. 

Amen !  he  is  arisen ! 
His  peace  be  with  you ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Here  it  reigns  for  ever! 

The  peace  of  God,  that  passeth  understanding, 
Reigns  in  these  cloisters  and  these  corridors. 
Are  you  Ernestus,  Abbot  of  the  convent? 

ABBOT. 

I  am. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  181 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

And  I  Prince  Henry  of  Hoheneck, 
Who  crave  your  hospitality  to-night. 

ABBOT. 

You  are  thrice  welcome  to  our  humble  walls. 
You  do  us  honor ;  and  we  shall  requite  it, 
I  fear,  but  poorly,  entertaining  you 
With  Paschal  eggs,  and  our  poor  convent  wine, 
The  remnants  of  our  Easter  holidays. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

How  fares  it  with  the  holy  monks  of  Hirschau  ? 
Are  all  things  well  with  them  ? 

ABBOT. 

All  things  are  well. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

A  noble  convent !     I  have  known  it  long 
By  the  report  of  travellers.     I  now  see 
Their  commendations  lag  behind  the  truth. 
You  lie  here  in  the  valley  of  the  Nagold 
As  in  a  nest :  and  the  still  river,  gliding 


182  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Along  its  bed,  is  like  an  admonition 

How  all  things  pass.     Your  lands  are  rich  and 

ample, 

And  your  revenues  large.     God's  benediction 
Rests  on  your  convent. 

ABBOT. 

By  our  charities 

We  strive  to  merit  it.     Our  Lord  and  Master, 
When  he  departed,  left  us  in  his  will, 
As  our  best  legacy  on  earth,  the  poor ! 
These  we  have  always  with  us ;  had  we  not, 
Our  hearts  would  grow  as  hard  as  are  these 
stones. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

If  I  remember  right,  the  Counts  of  Calva 
Founded  your  convent. 

ABBOT. 

Even  as  you  say. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

And,  if  I  err  not,  it  is  very  old. 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  183 

ABBOT. 

Within  these  cloisters  lie  already  buried 
Twelve  holy  Abbots.     Underneath  the  flags 
On  which  we  stand,  the  Abbot  William  lies, 
Of  blessed  memory. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

And  whose  tomb  is  that, 
Which  bears  the  brass  escutcheon  ? 

ABBOT. 

A  benefactor's. 

Conrad,  a  Count  of  Calva,  he  who  stood 
Godfather  to  our  bells. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Your  monks  are  learned 
And  holy  men,  I  trust. 

ABBOT. 

There  are  among  them 
Learned  and  holy  men.     Yet  in  this  age 
We  need  another  Hildebrand,  to  shake 
And  purify  us  like  a  mighty  wind. 


184  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

The  world  is  wicked,  and  sometimes  I  wonder 
God  does  not  lose  his  patience  with  it  wholly, 
And  shatter  it  like  glass !     Even  here,  at  times. 
Within  these  walls,  where  all  should  be  at  peace, 
I  have  my  trials.     Time  has  laid  his  hand 
Upon  my  heart,  gently,  not  smiting  it, 
But  as  a  harper  lays  his  open  palm 
Upon  his  harp,  to  deaden  its  vibrations. 
Ashes  are  on  my  head,  and  on  my  lips 
Sackcloth,  and  in  my  breast  a  heaviness 
And  weariness  of  life,  that  makes  me  ready 
To  say  to  the  dead  Abbots  under  us, 
"  Make  room  for  me ! "     Only  I  see  the  dusk 
Of  evening  twilight  coming,  and  have  not 
Completed  half  my  task ;  and  so  at  times 
The  thought  of  my  short-comings  in  this  life 
Falls  like  a  shadow  on  the  life  to  come. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

We  must  all  die,  and  not  the  old  alone ; 

The  young  have  no  exemption  from  that  doom. 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  185 

ABBOT. 

Ah,  yes !  the  young  may  die,  but  the  old  must ! 
That  is  the  difference. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

i  have  heard  much  laud 
Of  your  transcribers.     Your  Scriptorium 
Is  famous  among  all,  your  manuscripts 
Praised  for  their  beauty  and  their  excellence. 

ABBOT. 

That  is  indeed  our  boast.     If  you  desire  it, 
You  shall  behold  these  treasures.     And  mean 
while 

Shall  the  Refectorarius  bestow 
Your  horses  and  attendants  for  the  night. 
They  go  in.      The  Vesper-bell  rings. 


186 


THE  CHAPEL. 


Vespers;  after  which  the  monks  retire,  a  chorister  leading 

an  old  monk  who  is  blind. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

THEY  are  all  gone,  save  one  who  lingers, 
Absorbed  in  deep  and  silent  prayer. 
As  if  his  heart  could  find  no  rest, 
At  times  he  beats  his  heaving  breast 
With  clenched  and  convulsive  fingers, 
Then  lifts  them  trembling  in  the  air. 
A  chorister,  with  golden  hair, 
Guides  hitherward  his  heavy  pace. 
Can  it  be  so  ?     Or  does  my  sight 
Deceive  me  in  the  uncertain  light  ? 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  187 

Ah  no !     I  recognize  that  face, 

Though  Time  has  touched  it  in  his  flight, 

And  changed  the  auburn  hair  to  white. 

It  is  Count  Hugo  of  the  Rhine, 

The  deadliest  foe  of  all  our  race, 

And  hateful  unto  me  and  mine ! 

THE    BLIND    MONK. 

Who  is  it  that  doth  stand  so  near 
His  whispered  words  I  almost  hear  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

I  am  Prince  Henry  of  Hoheneck, 
And  you,  Count  Hugo  of  the  Rhine ! 
I  know  you,  and  I  see  the  scar, 
The  brand  upon  your  forehead,  shine 
And  redden  like  a  baleful  star ! 

THE    BLIND    MONK. 

Count  Hugo  once,  but  now  the  wreck 
Of  what  I  was.     O  Hoheneck ! 
The  passionate  will,  the  pride,  the  wrath 
That  bore  me  headlong  on  my  path, 


188 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 


Stumbled  and  staggered  into  fear, 

And  failed  me  in  my  mad  career, 

As  a  tired  steed  some  evil-doer, 

Alone  upon  a  desolate  moor, 

Bewildered,  lost,  deserted,  blind, 

And  hearing  loud  and  close  behind 

The  o'ertaking  steps  of  his  pursuer. 

Then  suddenly  from  the  dark  there  came 

A  voice  that  called  me  by  my  name, 

And  said  to  me,  "  Kneel  down  and  pray ! " 

And  so  my  terror  passed  away, 

Passed  utterly  away  for  ever. 

Contrition,  penitence,  remorse, 

Came  on  me,  with  o'erwhelming  force ; 

A  hope,  a  longing,  an  endeavor, 

By  days  of  penance  and  nights  of  prayer, 

To  frustrate  and  defeat  despair ! 

Calm,  deep,  and  still  is  now  my  heart, 

With  tranquil  waters  overflowed ; 

A  lake  whose  unseen  fountains  start, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  189 

Where  once  the  hot  volcano  glowed. 

And  you,  O  Prince  of  Hoheneck ! 

Have  known  me  in  that  earlier  time, 

A  man  of  violence  and  crime, 

Whose  passions  brooked  no  curb  nor  check. 

Behold  me  now,  in  gentler  mood, 

One  of  this  holy  brotherhood. 

Give  me  your  hand ;  here  let  me  kneel ; 

Make  your  reproaches  sharp  as  steel ; 

Spurn  me,  and  smite  me  on  each  cheek; 

No  violence  can  harm  the  meek, 

There  is  no  wound  Christ  cannot  heal ! 

Yes ;  lift  your  princely  hand,  and  take 

Revenge,  if  't  is  revenge  you  seek ; 

Then  pardon  me,  for  Jesus'  sake! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Arise,  Count  Hugo !  let  there  be 

No  farther  strife  nor  enmity 

Between  us  twain ;  we  both  have  erred  ! 

Too  rash  in  act,  too  wroth  in  word, 


ISO  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

• 

From  the  beginning  have  we  stood 
In  fierce,  defiant  attitude, 
Each  thoughtless  of  the  other's  right, 
And  each  reliant  on  his  might. 
But  now  our  souls  are  more  subdued ; 
The  hand  of  God,  and  not  in  vain, 
Has  touched  us  with  the  fire  of  pain. 
Let  us  kneel  down,  and  side  by  side 
Pray,  till  our  souls  are  purified, 
And  pardon  will  not  be  denied ! 
They  kneel. 


191 


THE    REFECTORY. 

Gaudiolum  of  Monks  at  midnight.     LUCIFER  disguised  as 
a  Friar. 

FRIAR    PAUL    sings. 

AVE  !  color  vini  clari, 
Dulcis  potus,  non  amari, 
Tua  nos  inebriari 
Digneris  potential 

FRIAR    CUTHBERT. 

Not  so  much  noise,  my  worthy  freres, 
You  '11  disturb  the  Abbot  at  his  prayers. 

FRIAR    PAUL    sings. 

O  !  quam  placens  in  colore ! 
O  !  quam  fragrans  in  odore ! 
O  !  quam  sapidum  in  ore  ! 
Dulce  linguae  vinculum! 


192  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

FRIAR  CUTHBERT. 

I   should   think  your  tongue   had  broken    its 
chain ! 

FRIAR    PAUL    sings. 

Felix  venter  quern  intrabis ! 
Felix  guttur  quod  rigabis  ! 
Felix  os  quod  tu  lavabis ! 
Et  beata  labia ! 

FRIAR    CUTHBERT. 

Peace !  I  say,  peace ! 

Will  you  never  cease ! 

You  will  rouse  up  the  Abbot,  I  tell  you  again ! 

FRIAR    JOHN. 

No  danger !  to-night  he  will  let  us  alone, 

As  I  happen  to  know  he  has  guests  of  his  own. 

FRIAR   CUTHBERT. 

Who  are  they  ? 

FRIAR   JOHN. 

A  German  Prince  and  his  train, 
Who  arrived  here  just  before  the  rain. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  193 

/ 

There  is  with  him  a  damsel  fair  to  see, 
As  slender  and  graceful  as  a  reed ! 
When  she  alighted  from  her  steed, 
It  seemed  like  a  blossom  blown  from  a  tree. 

FRIAR    CUTHBERT. 

None  of  your  pale-faced  girls  for  me ! 
Kisses  the  girl  at  his  side. 
FRIAR   JOHN. 

Come,  old  fellow,  drink  down  to  your  peg ! 
But  do  not  drink  any  farther,  I  beg ! 

FRIAR   PAUL    sings. 

In  the  days  of  gold, 
The  days  of  old, 
Cross  of  wood 
And  bishop  of  gold ! 

FRIAR    CUTHBERT,    to  the  girl. 

What  an  infernal  racket  and  din ! 

You  need  not  blush  so,  that  's  no  sin. 

You  look  very  holy  in  this  disguise, 

Though    there  's   something  wicked    in    your 

eyes! 

13 


194  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

FRIAR  PAUL  continues. 
Now  we  have  changed 
That  law  so  good, 
To  cross  of  gold 
And  bishop  of  wood ! 

FRIAR    CUTHBERT. 

I  like  your  sweet  face  under  a  hood. 
Sinner!  how  came  you  into  this  way? 

GIRL. 

It  was  you,  Friar  Cuthbert,  who  led  me  astray. 
Have  you  forgotten  that  day  in  June, 
When  the  church  was  so  cool  in  the  afternoon, 
And  I  came  in  to  confess  my  sins  ? 
That  is  where  my  ruin  begins. 

FRIAR   JOHN. 

What  is  the  name  of  yonder  friar, 

With  an  eye  that  glows  like  a  coal  of  fire, 

And  such  a  black  mass  of  tangled  hair  ? 

FRIAR    PAUL. 

He  who  is  sitting  there, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  195 

With  a  rollicking, 
Devil  may  care, 
Free  and  easy  look  and  air, 
As  if  he  were  used  to  such  feasting  and  frol 
icking  ? 

FRIAR   JOHN. 

The  same. 

FRIAR    PAUL. 

He 's  a  stranger.    You  had  better  ask  his  name, 
And  where  he  is  going,  and  whence  he  came. 

FRIAR   JOHN. 

Hallo!    Sir  Friar! 

FRIAR    PAUL. 

You  must  raise  your  voice  a  little  higher, 
He  does  not  seem  to  hear  what  you  say. 
Now,  try  again !     He  is  looking  this  way. 

FRIAR   JOHN. 

Hallo !     Sir  Friar, 

We  wish  to  inquire 

Whence  you  came,  and  where  you  are  going, 


196  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

And  any  thing  else  that  is  worth  the  knowing. 
So  be  so  good  as  to  open  your  head. 

LUCIFER. 

I  am  a  Frenchman  born  and  bred, 

Going  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Rome. 

My  home 

Is  the  convent  of  St.  Gildas  de  Rhuys, 

Of  which,  very  like,  you  never  have  heard. 

MONKS. 

Never  a  word ! 

LUCIFER. 

You  must  know,  then,  it  is  in  the  diocese 

Called  the  Diocese  of  Vannes, 

In  the  province  of  Brittany. 

From  the  gray  rocks  of  Morbihan 

It  overlooks  the  angry  sea ; 

The  very  sea-shore  where, 

In  his  great  despair, 

Abbot  Abelard  walked  to  and  fro, 

Filling  the  night  with  woe, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  197 

And  wailing  aloud  to  the  merciless  seas 

The  name  of  his  sweet  Heloise ! 

Whilst  overhead 

The  convent  windows  gleamed  as  red 

As  the  fiery  eyes  of  the  monks  within, 

Who  with  jovial  din 

Gave  themselves  up  to  all  kinds  of  sin ! 

Ha !  that  is  a  convent !  that  is  an  abbey ! 

Over  the  doors, 

None  of  your  death-heads  carved  in  wood, 

None  of  your  Saints  looking  pious  and  good, 

None  of  your  Patriarchs  old  and  shabby ! 

But  the  heads  and  tusks  of  boars, 

And  the  cells 

Hung  all  round  with  the  fells 

Of  the  fallow-deer. 

And  then  what  cheer ! 

What  jolly,  fat  friars, 

Sitting  round  the  great,  roaring  fires, 

Roaring  louder  than  they, 


198  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

With  their  strong  wines, 

And  their  concubines, 

And  never  a  bell, 

With  its  swagger  and  swell, 

Calling  you  up  with  a  start  of  affright 

In  the  dead  of  night, 

To  send  you  grumbling  down  dark  stairs, 

To  mumble  your  prayers. 

But  the  cheery  crow 

Of  cocks  in  the  yard  below, 

After  daybreak,  an  hour  or  so, 

And  the  barking  of  deep-mouthed  hounds, 

These  are  the  sounds 

That,  instead  of  bells,  salute  the  ear. 

And  then  all  day 

Up  and  away 

Through  the  forest,  hunting  the  deer ! 

Ah.  my  friends !     I  'm  afraid  that  here 

You  are  a  little  too  pious,  a  little  too  tame, 

And  the  more  is  the  shame. 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  199 

'T  is  the  greatest  folly 
Not  to  be  jolly ; 
That's  what  I  think! 
Come,  drink,  drink, 
Drink,  and  die  game ! 

MONKS. 

And  your  Abbot  What's-his-name  ? 

LUCIFER. 

Abelard ! 

MONKS. 

Did  he  drink  hard  ? 

LUCIFER. 

O,  no !     Not  he ! 

He  was  a  dry  old  fellow, 

Without     juice    enough    to    get    thoroughly 

mellow. 

There  he  stood, 

Lowering  at  us  in  sullen  mood, 
As  if  he  had  come  into  Brittany 
Just  to  reform  our  brotherhood  ! 


200  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

A  roar  of  laughter. 
But  you  see 
It  never  would  do ! 
For  some  of  us  knew  a  thing  or  two, 
In  the  Abbey  of  St.  Gildas  de  Rhuys ! 
For  instance,  the  great  ado 
With  old  Fulbert's  niece, 
The  young  and  lovely  Heloise ! 

FRIAR   JOHN. 

Stop  there,  if  you  please, 

Till  we  drink  to  the  fair  Heloise. 

ALL,  drinking  and  shouting. 
Heloise !     Heloise ! 

The  Chapel-bell  tolls. 
LUCIFER,  starting. 

What  is  that  bell  for  ?     Are  you  such  asses 
As  to  keep  up  the  fashion  of  midnight  masses  ? 

FRIAR    CUTHBERT. 

It  is  only  a  poor,  unfortunate  brother, 
Who  is  gifted  with  most  miraculous  powers 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  201 

Of  getting  up  at  all  sorts  of  hours, 
And,  by  way  of  penance  and  Christian  meek 
ness, 

Of  creeping  silently  out  of  his  cell 
To  take  a  pull  at  that  hideous  bell ; 
So  that  all  the  monks  who  are  lying  awake 
May   murmur   some   kind   of  prayer  -for   his 

sake, 
And  adapted  to  his  peculiar  weakness ! 

FRIAR   JOHN. 

From  frailty  and  fall  — 

ALL. 

Good  Lord,  deliver  us  all ! 

FRIAR    CUTHBERT. 

And  before  the  bell  for  matins  sounds, 

He  takes  his  lantern,  and  goes  the  rounds, 

Flashing  it  into  our  sleepy  eyes, 

Merely  to  say  it  is  time  to  arise. 

But  enough  of  that.     Go  on,  if  you  please, 

With  your  story  about  St.  Gildas  de  Rhuys. 


202  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

LUCIFER. 

Well,  it  finally  came  to  pass 

That,  half  in  fun  and  half  in  malice, 

One  Sunday  at  Mass 

We  put  some  poison  into  the  chalice. 

But,  either  by  accident  or  design, 

Peter  Abelard  kept  away 

From  the  chapel  that  day, 

And  a  poor,  young  friar,  who  in  his  stead 

Drank  the  sacramental  wine, 

Fell  on  the  steps  of  the  altar,  dead ! 

But  look !  do  you  see  at  the  window  there 

That  face,  with  a  look  of  grief  and  despair. 

That  ghastly  face,  as  of  one  in  pain  ? 

MONKS. 

Who?  where? 

LUCIFER. 

As  I  spoke,  it  vanished  away  again. 

FRIAR    CUTHBERT. 

It  is  that  nefarious 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  203 

Siebald  the  Refectorarius. 

That  fellow  is  always  playing  the  scout, 

Creeping  and  peeping  and  prowling  about ; 

And  then  he  regales 

The  Abbot  with  scandalous  tales. 

LUCIFER. 

A  spy  in  the  convent?     One  of  the  brothers 
Telling  scandalous  tales  of  the  others  ? 
Out  upon  him,  the  lazy  loon ! 
I  would  put  a  stop  to  that  pretty  soon, 
In  a  way  he  should  rue  it. 

MONKS. 

How  shall  we  do  it  ? 

LUCIFER. 

Do  you,  brother  Paul, 

Creep  under  the  window,  close  to  the  wall, 

And  open  it  suddenly  when  I  call. 

Then  seize  the  villain  by  the  hair, 

And  hold  him  there, 

And  punish  him  soundly,  once  for  all. 


2C4  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

FRIAR  CUTHBERT. 

As  St.  Dunstan  of  old, 

We  are  told, 

Once  caught  the  Devil  by  the  nose ! 

LUCIFER. 

Ha !  ha !  that  story  is  very  clever, 

But  has  no  foundation  whatsoever. 

Quick !  for  I  see  his  face  again 

Glaring  in  at  the  window-pane ; 

Now !  now !  and  do  not  spare  your  blows. 

FRIAR  PAUL  opens  the  window  suddenly,  and  seizes  SIE- 
BALD.      They  beat  him. 

FRIAR    SIEBALD. 

Help !  help !  are  you  going  to  slay  me  ? 

FRIAR    PAUL. 

That  will  teach  you  again  to  betray  me ! 

FRIAR    SIEBALD. 

Mercy!  mercy! 

FRIAR  PAUL,  shouting  and  beating. 
Rumpas  bellorum  lorum, 
Vim  confer  amorum 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  205 

Morum  verorum,  rorum 
Tu  plena  polorurn ! 

LUCIFER. 

Who  stands  in  the  doorway  yonder, 
Stretching  out  his  trembling  hand, 
Just  as  Abelard  used  to  stand, 
The  flash  of  his  keen,  black  eyes 
Forerunning  the  thunder  ? 

THE  MONKS,  in  confusion. 

The  Abbot!  the  Abbot! 

FRIAR   CUTHBERT,   to  the  girl. 

Put  on  your  disguise ! 

FRIAR    FRANCIS. 

Hide  the  great  flagon 

From  the  eyes  of  the  dragon ! 

FRIAR    CTJTHBERT. 

Pull  the  brown  hood  over  your  face, 
Lest  you  bring  me  into  disgrace ! 

ABBOT. 

What  means  this  revel  and  carouse? 


206  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Is  this  a  tavern  and  drinking-house  ? 
Are  you  Christian  monks,  or  heathen  devils, 
To  pollute  this  convent  with  your  revels  ? 
Were  Peter  Damian  still  upon  earth, 
To  be  shocked  by  such  ungodly  mirth, 
He  would  write  your  names,  with  pen  of  gall, 
In  his  Book  of  Gomorrah,  one  and  all! 
Away,  you  drunkards !  to  your  cells, 
And  pray  till  you  hear  the  matin-bells ; 
You,  Brother  Francis,  and  you,  Brother  Paul ! 
And  as  a  penance  mark  each  prayer 
With  the  scourge  upon  your  shoulders  bare ; 
Nothing  atones  for  such  a  sin 
But  the  blood  that  follows  the  discipline. 
And  you,  Brother  Cuthbert,  come  with  me 
Alone  into  the  sacristy ; 

You,  who  should  be  a  guide  to  your  brothers, 
And  are  ten  times  worse  than  all  the  others, 
For  you  I  've  a  draught  that  has  long  been 
brewing, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  207 

You  shall  do  a  penance  worth  the  doing ! 
Away  to  your  prayers,  then,  one  and  all ! 
I  wonder  the  very  convent  wall 
Does  not  crumble  and  crush  you  in  its  fall ! 


208 


THE    NEIGHBORING    NUNNERY. 


The  ABBESS  IRMINGARD  sitting  with  ELSIE  in  the  moon 
light. 

IRMINGARD. 

THE  night  is  silent,  the  wind  is  still, 
The  moon  is  looking  from  yonder  hill 
Down  upon  convent,  and  grove,  and  garden ; 
The  clouds  have  passed  away  from  her  face, 
Leaving  behind  them  no  sorrowful  trace, 
Only  the  tender  and  quiet  grace 
Of  one,  whose   heart   has  been  healed  with 
pardon ! 

And  such  am  I.     My  soul  within 

Was  dark  with  passion  and  soiled  with  sin. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  209 

But  now  its  wounds  are  healed  again ; 

Gone  are  the  anguish,  the  terror,  and  pain ; 

For  across  that  desolate  land  of  woe, 

O'er  whose  burning  sands  I  was  forced  to  go, 

A  wind  from  heaven  began  to  blow ; 

And  all  my  being  trembled  and  shook, 

As  the  leaves  of  the  tree,  or  the  grass  of  the 

field, 

And  I  was  healed,  as  the  sick  are  healed, 
When  fanned  by  the  leaves  of  the  Holy  Book ! 

As  thou  sittest  in  the  moonlight  there, 
Its  glory  flooding  thy  golden  hair, 
And  the  only  darkness  that  which  lies 
In  the  haunted  chambers  of  thine  eyes, 
I  feel  my  soul  drawn  unto  thee, 
Strangely,  and  strongly,  and  more  and  more, 
As  to  one  I  have  known  and  loved  before ; 
For  every  soul  is  akin  to  me 
That  dwells  in  the  land  of  mystery ! 
14 


210  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

I  am  the  Lady  Irmingard, 

Born  of  a  noble  race  and  name ! 

Many  a  wandering  Suabian  bard, 

Whose  life  was  dreary,  and  bleak,  and  hard, 

Has  found  through  me  the  way  to  fame. 

Brief  and  bright  were  those  days,  and  the  night 

Which  followed  was  full  of  a  lurid  light. 

Love,  that  of  every  woman's  heart 

Will  have  the  whole,  and  not  a  part, 

That  is  to  her,  in  Nature's  plan, 

More  than  ambition  is  to  man, 

Her  light,  her  life,  her  very  breath, 

With  no  alternative  but  death, 

Found  me  a  maiden  soft  and  young, 

Just  from  the  convent's  cloistered  school, 

And  seated  on  my  lowly  stool, 

Attentive  while  the  minstrels  sung. 

Gallant,  graceful,  gentle,  tall, 
Fairest,  noblest,  best  of  all, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  211 

Was  Walter  of  the  Vogelweid ; 

And,  whatsoever  may  betide, 

Still  I  think  of  him  with  pride ! 

His  song  was  of  the  summer-time, 

The  very  birds  sang  in  his  rhyme ; 

The  sunshine,  the  delicious  air, 

The  fragrance  of  the  flowers,  were  there ; 

And  I  grew  restless  as  I  heard, 

Restless  and  buoyant  as  a  bird, 

Down  soft,  aerial  currents  sailing, 

O'er  blossomed  orchards,  and  fields  in  bloom, 

And  through  the  momentary  gloom 

Of  shadows  o'er  the  landscape  trailing, 

Yielding  and  borne  I  knew  not  where, 

But  feeling  resistance  unavailing. 

And  thus,  unnoticed  and  apart, 
And  more  by  accident  than  choice, 
I  listened  to  that  single  voice 
Until  the  chambers  of  my  heart 


212  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Were  filled  with  it  by  night  and  day. 
One  night,  —  it  was  a  night  in  May,  — 
Within  the  garden,  unawares, 
Under  the  blossoms  in  the  gloom, 
I  heard  it  utter  my  own  name 
With  protestations  and  wild  prayers ; 
And  it  rang  through  me,  and  became 
Like  the  archangel's  trump  of  doom, 
Which  the  soul  hears,  and  must  obey ; 
And  mine  arose  as  from  a  tomb. 
My  former  life  now  seemed  to  me 
Such  as  hereafter  death  may  be, 
When  in  the  great  Eternity 
We  shall  awake  and  find  it  day. 

It  was  a  dream,  and  would  not  stay ; 
A  dream,  that  in  a  single  night 
Faded  and  vanished  out  of  sight. 
My  father's  anger  followed  fast 
This  passion,  as  a  freshening  blast 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  213 

Seeks  out  and  fans  the  fire,  whose  rage 
It  may  increase,  but  not  assuage. 
And  he  exclaimed :  "  No  wandering  bard 
Shall  win  thy  hand,  O  Irmingard ! 
For  which  Prince  Henry  of  Hoheneck 
By  messenger  and  letter  sues." 

Gently,  but  firmly,  I  replied : 

"  Henry  of  Hoheneck  I  discard ! 

Never  the  hand  of  Irmingard 

Shall  lie  in  his  as  the  hand  of  a  bride ! " 

This  said  I,  Walter,  for  thy  sake ; 

This  said  I,  for  I  could  not  choose. 

After  a  pause,  my  father  spake 

In  that  cold  and  deliberate  tone 

Which  turns  the  hearer  into  stone, 

And  seems  itself  the  act  to  be 

That  follows  with  such  dread  certainty; 

"  This,  or  the  cloister  and  the  veil !  " 

No  other  words  than  these  he  said, 


214  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

But  they  were  like  a  funeral  wail ; 
My  life  was  ended,  my  heart  was  dead. 

That  night  from  the  castle-gate  went  down, 

With  silent,  slow,  and  stealthy  pace, 

Two  shadows,  mounted  on  shadowy  steeds, 

Taking  the  narrow  path  that  leads 

Into  the  forest  dense  and  brown. 

In  the  leafy  darkness  of  the  place, 

One  could  not  distinguish  form  nor  face, 

Only  a  bulk  without  a  shape, 

A  darker  shadow  in  the  shade ; 

One  scarce  could  say  it  moved  or  stayed. 

Thus  it  was  we  made  our  escape ! 

A  foaming  brook,  with  many  a  bound, 

Followed  us  like  a  playful  hound ; 

Then  leaped  before  us,  and  in  the  hollow 

Paused,  and  waited  for  us  to  follow, 

And  seemed  impatient,  and  afraid 

That  our  tardy  flight  should  be  betrayed 

By  the  sound  our  horses'  hoof-beats  made. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  215 

And  when  we  reached  the  plain  below, 
We  paused  a  moment  and  drew  rein 
To  look  back  at  the  castle  again ; 
And  we  saw  the  windows  all  aglow 
With  lights,  that  were  passing  to  and  fro ; 
Our  hearts  with  terror  ceased  to  beat ; 
The  brook  crept  silent  to  our  feet ; 
We  knew  what  most  we  feared  to  know. 
Then  suddenly  horns  began  to  blow ; 
And  we  heard  a  shout,  and  a  heavy  tramp, 
And  our  horses  snorted  in  the  damp 
Night-air  of  the  meadows  green  and  wide, 
And  in  a  moment,  side  by  side, 
So  close,  they  must  have  seemed  but  one, 
The  shadows  across  the  moonlight  run, 
And  another  came,  and  swept  behind, 
Like  the  shadow  of  clouds  before  the  wind ! 

How  I  remember  that  breathless  flight 
Across  the  moors,  in  the  summer  night ! 


216  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

How  under  our  feet  the  long,  white  road 
Backward  like  a  river  flowed, 
Sweeping  with  it  fences  and  hedges, 
Whilst  farther  away,  and  overhead, 
Paler  than  I,  with  fear  and  dread, 
The  moon  fled  with  us,  as  we  fled 
Along  the  forest's  jagged  edges! 

All  this  1  can  remember  well ; 

But  of  what  afterwards  befell 

I  nothing  farther  can  recall 

Than  a  blind,  desperate,  headlong  fall ; 

The  rest  is  a  blank  and  darkness  all. 

When  I  awoke  out  of  this  swoon, 

The  sun  was  shining,  not  the  moon, 

Making  a  cross  upon  the  wall 

With  the  bars  of  my  windows  narrow  and  tall ; 

And  I  prayed  to  it,  as  I  had  been  wont  to  pray, 

From  early  childhood,  day  by  day, 

Each  morning,  as  in  bed  I  lay ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  217 

I  was  lying  again  in  my  own  room ! 
And  I  thanked  God,  in  my  fever  and  pain, 
That  those  shadows  on  the  midnight  plain 
Were  gone,  and  could  not  come  again ! 
I  struggled  no  longer  with  my  doom ! 

This  happened  many  years  ago. 
I  left  my  father's  home  to  come 
Like  Catherine  to  her  martyrdom, 
For  blindly  I  esteemed  it  so. 
And  when  I  heard  the  convent  door 
Behind  me  close,  to  ope  no  more, 
I  felt  it  smite  me  like  a  blow. 
Through  all  my  limbs  a  shudder  ran, 
And  on  my  bruised  spirit  fell 
The  dampness  of  my  narrow  cell 
As  night-air  on  a  wounded  man, 
Giving  intolerable  pain. 

But  now  a  better  life  began. 


218  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

I  felt  the  agony  decrease 

By  slow  degrees,  then  wholly  cease, 

Ending  in  perfect  rest  and  peace  ! 

It  was  not  apathy,  nor  dulness, 

That  weighed  and  pressed  upon  my  brain, 

But  the  same  passion  I  had  given 

To  earth  before,  now  turned  to  heaven 

With  all  its  overflowing  fulness. 

Alas !  the  world  is  full  of  peril ! 

The  path  that  runs  through  the  fairest  meads, 

On  the  sunniest  side  of  the  valley,  leads 

Into  a  region  bleak  and  sterile ! 

Alike  in  the  high-born  and  the  lowly, 

The  will  is  feeble,  and  passion  strong. 

We  cannot  sever  right  from  wrong ; 

Some  falsehood  mingles  with  all  truth ; 

Nor  is  it  strange  the  heart  of  youth 

Should  waver  and  comprehend  but  slowly 

The  things  that  are  holy  and  unholy ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  219 

But  in  this  sacred  and  calm  retreat, 
We  are  all  well  and  safely  shielded 
From  winds  that  blow,  and  waves  that  beat, 
From  the  cold,  and  rain,  and  blighting  heat, 
To  which  the  strongest  hearts  have  yielded. 
Here  we  stand  as  the  Virgins  Seven, 
For  our  celestial  bridegroom  yearning ; 
Our  hearts  are  lamps  for  ever  burning, 
With  a  steady  and  unwavering  flame, 
Pointing  upward,  for  ever  the  same, 
Steadily  upward  toward  the  Heaven ! 

The  moon  is  hidden  behind  a  cloud ; 

A  sudden  darkness  fills  the  room, 

And  thy  deep  eyes,  amid  the  gloom, 

Shine  like  jewels  in  a  shroud. 

On  the  leaves  is  a  sound  of  falling  rain ; 

A  bird,  awakened  in  its  nest, 

Gives  a  faint  twitter  of  unrest, 

Then  smoothes  its  plumes  and  sleeps  again. 


220  TIIE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

No  other  sounds  than  these  I  hear ; 

The  hour  of  midnight  must  be  near. 

Thou  art  o'erspent  with  the  day's  fatigue 

Of  riding  many  a  dusty  league ; 

Sink,  then,  gently  to  thy  slumber ; 

Me  so  many  cares  encumber, 

So  many  ghosts,  and  forms  of  fright, 

Have  started  from  their  graves  to-night, 

They  have  driven  sleep  from  mine  eyes  away 

I  will  go  down  to  the  chapel  and  pray. 


y. 


223 


A    COVERED    BRIDGE    AT    LUCERNE. 


PRINCE    HENRY. 

GOD'S  blessing  on  the  architects  who  build 
The  bridges  o'er  swift  rivers  and  abysses 
Before  impassable  to  human  feet, 
No  less  than  on  the  builders  of  cathedrals, 
Whose    massive    walls    are    bridges    thrown 

o 

across 

The  dark  and  terrible  abyss  of  Death. 
Well  has  the  name  of  Pontifex  been  given 
Unto  the  Church's  head,  as  the  chief  builder 
And  architect  of  the  invisible  bridge 
That  leads  from  earth  to  heaven. 


ELSIE. 


How  dark  it  grows  ! 


224  THE   GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

What  are  these  paintings  on  the  walls  around 
us? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

The  Dance  Macaber ! 

ELSIE. 

What? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

The  Dance  of  Death  ! 
All  that  go  to  and  fro  must  look  upon  it, 
Mindful  of  what  they  shall  be,  while  beneath, 
Among  the  wooden  piles,  the  turbulent  river 
Rushes,  impetuous  as  the  river  of  life, 
With  dimpling  eddies,  ever  green  and  bright, 
Save  where  the  shadow  of  this  bridge  falls 
on  it. 

ELSIE. 

O,  yes !  I  see  it  now ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

The  grim  musician 

Leads   all   men   through   the   mazes   of  that 
dance, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  225 

To  different  sounds  in  different  measures  mov 
ing  ; 

Sometimes  he  plays  a  lute,  sometimes  a  drum, 
To  tempt  or  terrify. 

ELSIE. 

What  is  this  picture  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

It  is  a  young  man  singing  to  a  nun, 

Who  kneels  at  her  devotions,  but  in  kneeling 

Turns   round   to   look   at   him ;    and    Death, 

meanwhile, 
Is  putting  out  the  candles  on  the  altar ! 

ELSIE. 

Ah,  what  a  pity  't  is  that  she  should  listen 
Unto  such  songs,  when  in  her  orisons 
She  might  have  heard  in  heaven  the  angels 
singing! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Here  he  has  stolen  a  jester's  cap  and  bells, 
And  dances  with  the  Queen. 
15 


226  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

ELSIE. 

A  foolish  jest! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

And  here  the  heart  of  the  new-wedded  wife, 
Coming  from  church  with  her  beloved  lord, 
He  startles  with  the  rattle  of  his  drum. 

ELSIE. 

Ah,  that  is  sad!     And  yet  perhaps  't  is  best 
That  she  should  die,  with  all  the  sunshine  on 

her, 

And  all  the  benedictions  of  the  morning, 
Before  this  affluence  of  golden  light 
Shall  fade  into  a  cold  and  clouded  gray, 
Then  into  darkness ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Under  it  is  written, 

"  Nothing  but  death  shall  separate  thee  and 
me!" 

ELSIE. 

And  what  is  this,  that  follows  close  upon  it  ? 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  227 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Death,  playing  on  a  dulcimer.     Behind  him, 
A  poor  old  woman,  with  a  rosary, 
Follows  the  sound,  and  seems  to  wish  her  feet 
Were  swifter  to  o'ertake  him.     Underneath, 
The  inscription  reads,  "  Better  is  Death  than 
Life." 

ELSIE. 

Better  is  Death  than  Life  !     Ah  yes !  to  thou 
sands 

Death  plays  upon  a  dulcimer,  and  sings 
That  song  of  consolation,  till  the  air 
Rings  with  it,   and  they  cannot   choose   but 

follow 

Whither  he  leads.     And  not  the  old  alone, 
But  the  young  also  hear  it.  and  are  still. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Yes,   in   their   sadder    moments.      >T  is   the 

sound 
Of  their  own   hearts  they  hear,  half  full   of 

tears, 


228 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 


Which  are  like  crystal  cups,  half  filled  with 

water, 

Responding  to  the  pressure  of  a  finger 
With  music  sweet  and  low  and  melancholy. 
Let  us  go  forward,  and  no  longer  stay 
In  this  great  picture-gallery  of  Death ! 
I  hate  it !  ay,  the  very  thought  of  it ! 

ELSIE. 

Why  is  it  hateful  to  you  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

For  the  reason 

That  life,  and  all  that  speaks  of  life,  is  lovely,. 
And  death,  and  all  that  speaks  of  death,  is 
hateful. 

ELSIE. 

The  grave  itself  is  but  a  covered  bridge, 
Leading  from  light  to  light,  through  a  brief 

darkness ! 

PRINCE   HENRY,  emerging  from  the  bridge. 
I  breathe  again  more  freely !     Ah,  how  pleas 
ant 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  229 

To  come  once  more  into  the  light  of  day, 
Out  of  that  shadow  of  death !     To  hear  again 
The  hoof-beats  of  our  horses  en  firm  ground, 
And  not  upon  those  hollow  planks,  resounding 
With  a  sepulchral  echo,  like  the  clods 
On  coffins  in  a  churchyard !     Yonder  lies 
The  Lake  of  the  Four  Forest- Towns,  appar 
elled 

In  light,  and  lingering,  like  a  village  maiden, 
Hid  in  the  bosom  of  her  native  mountains, 
Then  pouring  all  her  life  into  another's, 
Changing  her  name  and  being  !     Overhead, 
Shaking  his  cloudy  tresses  loose  in  air, 
Rises  Pilatus,  with  his  windy  pines. 
They  pass  on, 


230 


THE    DEVIL'S    BRIDGE. 


PRINCE  HENRY  and  ELSIE  crossing,  with  attendants. 

GUIDE. 

THIS  bridge  is  called  the  Devil's  Bridge. 
With  a  single  arch,  from  ridge  to  ridge, 
It  leaps  across  the  terrible  chasm 
Yawning  beneath  us,  black  and  deep, 
As  if,  in  some  convulsive  spasm, 
The  summits  of  the  hills  had  cracked, 
And  made  a  road  for  the  cataract, 
That  raves  and  rages  down  the  steep  ! 
LUCIFER,  under  the  bridge. 

Ha!  ha! 

GUIDE. 

Never  any  bridge  but  this 

Could  stand  across  the  wild  abyss ; 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  231 

All  the  rest,  of  wood  or  stone, 
By  the  Devil's  hand  were  overthrown. 
He  toppled  crags  from  the  precipice, 
And  whatsoe'er  was  built  by  day 
In  the  night  was  swept  away ; 
None  could  stand  but  this  alone. 
LUCIFER,  under  the  bridge. 

Ha!  ha! 

GUIDE. 

I  showed  you  in  the  valley  a  boulder 
Marked  with  the  imprint  of  his  shoulder  ; 
As  he  was  bearing  it  up  this  way, 
A  peasant,  passing,  cried,  "  Herr  Je !  " 
And  the  Devil  dropped  it  in  his  fright, 
And  vanished  suddenly  out  of  sight ! 
LUCIFER,  under  the  bridge. 

Ha!  ha! 

GUIDE. 

Abbot  Giraldus  of  Einsiedel, 

For  pilgrims  on  their  way  to  Rome, 


232  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Built  this  at  last,  with  a  single  arch, 

Under  which,  on  its  endless  march, 

Runs  the  river,  white  with  foam, 

Like  a  thread  through  the  eye  of  a  needle. 

And  the  Devil  promised  to  let  it  stand, 

Under  compact  and  condition 

That  the  first  living  thing  which  crossed 

Should  be  surrendered  into  his  hand, 

And  be  beyond  redemption  lost. 

LUCIFER,  under  the  bridge. 
Ha !  ha !  perdition ! 

GUIDE. 

At  length,  the  bridge  being  all  completed, 
The  Abbot,  standing  at  its  head, 
Threw  across  it  a  loaf  of  bread, 
Which  a  hungry  dog  sprang  after, 
And  the  rocks  reechoed  with  peals  of  laugh 
ter 

To  see  the  Devil  thus  defeated ! 
They  pass  on. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  233 

LUCIFER,  under  the  bridge. 
Ha!  ha!  defeated! 
For  journeys  and  for  crimes  like  this 
I  let  the  bridge  stand  o'er  the  abyss ! 


234 


THE    ST.    GOTHARD    PASS. 


PRINCE    HENRY. 

THIS  is  the  highest  point.    Two  ways  the  rivers 
Leap  down  to  different  seas,  and  as  they  roll 
Grow  deep  and  still,  and  their  majestic  pres 
ence 

Becomes  a  benefaction  to  the  towns 
They  visit,  wandering  silently  among  them, 
Like  patriarchs  old  among  their  shining  tents. 

ELSIE. 

How   bleak   and    bare   it  is!      Nothing   but 

mosses 
Grow  on  these  rocks. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Yet  are  they  not  forgotten  ; 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  235 

Beneficent    Nature   sends   the   mists  to   feed 
them. 

ELSIE. 

See  yonder  little  cloud,  that,  borne  aloft 
So  tenderly  by  the  wind,  floats  fast  away 
Over  the  snowy  peaks !     It  seems  to  me 
The  body  of  St.  Catherine,  borne  by  angels ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Thou  art  St.  Catherine,  and  invisible  angels 
Bear  thee  across  these  chasms  and  precipices, 
Lest  thou  shouldst   dash  thy  feet  against  a 
stone ! 

ELSIE. 

Would  I  were  borne  unto  my  grave,  as   she 

was, 

Upon  angelic  shoulders !  Even  now 
I  seem  uplifted  by  them,  light  as  air ! 
What  sound  is  that  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

The  tumbling  avalanches ! 


236  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

ELSIE. 

How  awful,  yet  how  beautiful ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

These  are 

The  voices  of  the  mountains !    Thus  they  ope 
Their  snowy  lips,  and   speak  unto  each  other, 
In  the  primeval  language,  lost  to  man. 

ELSIE. 

What  land  is  this  that  spreads  itself  beneath  us? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Italy!     Italy! 

ELSIE. 

Land  of  the  Madonna ! 
How  beautiful  it  is !     It  seems  a  garden 
Of  Paradise ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Nay,  of  Gethsemane 

To  thee  and  me,  of  passion  and  of  prayer ! 
Yet  once  of  Paradise.     Long  years  ago 
I  wandered  as  a  youth  among  its  bowers, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  237 

And  never  from  my  heart  has  faded  quite 
Its  memory,  that,  like  a  summer  sunset, 
Encircles  with  a  ring  of  purple  light 
All  the  horizon  of  my  youth. 

GUIDE. 

O  friends ! 

The  days  are  short,  the  way  before  us  long ; 
We  must  not  linger,  if  we  think  to  reach 
The  inn  at  Belinzona  before  vespers  ! 

They  pass  on. 


238 


AT    THE    FOOT    OF    THE    ALPS. 


A  halt  under  the  trees  at  noon. 
PRINCE    HENRY. 

HERE  let  us  pause  a  moment  in  the  trembling 
Shadow  and  sunshine  of  the  road-side  trees, 
And,  our  tired  horses  in  a  group  assembling, 
Inhale  long  draughts  of  this  delicious  breeze. 
Our  fleeter  steeds  have  distanced  our  attend 
ants  ; 

They  lag  behind  us  with  a  slower  pace ; 
We  will  await  them  under  the  green  pendants 
Of  the  great  willows  in  this  shady  place. 
Ho,  Barbarossa  !  how  thy  mottled  haunches 
Sweat  with  this  canter  over  hill  and  glade ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  239 

/ 

Stand  still,  and  let  these  overhanging  branches 
Fan   thy   hot   sides   and    comfort   thee   with 
shade ! 

ELSIE. 

What  a  delightful  landscape  spreads  before  us, 
Marked  with  a  whitewashed  cottage  here  and 

there ! 

And,  in  luxuriant  garlands  drooping  o'er  us, 
Blossoms  of  grape-vines  scent  the  sunny  air. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Hark!    what  sweet  sounds  are   those,  whose 

accents  holy 
Fill   the   warm    noon   with    music   sad   and 

sweet ! 

ELSIE. 

It  is  a  band  of  pilgrims,  moving  slowly 
On  their  long  journey,  with  uncovered  feet. 
PILGRIMS,  chaunting  the  Hymn  of  St.  Hildcbert. 
Me  receptet  Sion  ilia, 
Sion  David,  urbs  tranquilla, 


240  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Cujus  faber  auctor  lucis, 
Cujus  portse  lignum  crucis, 
Cujus  claves  lingua  Petri, 
Cujus  cives  semper  Iseti, 
Cujus  muri  lapis  vivus, 
Cujus  custos  Rex  festivus  ! 
LUCIFER,  as  a  Friar  in  the  procession. 
Here  am  I,  too,  in  the  pious  band, 
fn  the  garb  of  a  barefooted  Carmelite  dressed  I 
The  soles  of  my  feet  are  as  hard  and  tanned 
As  the  conscience  of  old  Pope  Hildebrand, 
The  Holy  Satan,  who  made  the  wives 
Of  the  bishops  lead  such  shameful  lives. 
All  day  long  I  beat  my  breast, 
And  chaunt  with  a  most  particular  zest 
The  Latin  hymns,  which  I  understand 
Quite  as  well,  I  think,  as  the  rest. 
And  at  night  such  lodging  in  barns  and  sheds, 
Such  a  hurly-burly  in  country  inns, 
Such  a  clatter  of  tongues  in  empty  heads, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  241 

Such  a  helter-skelter  of  prayers  and  sins ! 
Of  all  the  contrivances  of  the  time 
For  sowing  broadcast  the  seeds  of  crime, 
There  is  none  so  pleasing  to  me  and  mine 
As  a  pilgrimage  to  some  far-off  shrine ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

If  from  the  outward  man  we  judge  the  inner, 
And  cleanliness  is  godliness,  I  fear 
A  hopeless  reprobate,  a  hardened  sinner, 
Must  be  that  Carmelite  now  passing  near. 

LUCIFER. 

There  is  my  German  Prince  again, 
Thus  far  on  his  journey  to  Salern, 
And  the  lovesick  girl,  whose  heated  brain 
Is  sowing  the  cloud  to  reap  the  rain ; 
But  it  's  a  long  road  that  has  no  turn  ! 
Let  them  quietly  hold  their  way, 
I  have  also  a  part  in  the  play. 
But  first  I  must  act  to  my  heart's  content 
This  mummery  and  this  merriment, 
16 


242  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

And  drive  this  motley  flock  of  sheep 

Into  the  fold,  where  drink  and  sleep 

The  jolly  old  friars  of  Benevent. 

Of  a  truth,  it  often  provokes  me  to  laugh 

To  see  these  beggars  hobble  along, 

Lamed  and  maimed,  and  fed  upon  chaff, 

Chanting  their  wonderful  piff  and  paff, 

And,  to  make  up  for  not  understanding  the 

song, 

Singing  it  fiercely,  and  wild,  and  strong ! 
Were  it  not  for  my  magic  garters  and  staff, 
And  the  goblets  of  goodly  wine  I  quaff, 
And  the  mischief  I  make  in  the  idle  throng, 
I  should  not  continue  the  business  long. 

PILGRIMS,  chaunting. 
In  hac  urbe,  lux  solennis, 
Ver  aeternum,  pax  perennis ; 
In  hac  odor  implens  cselos, 
In  hac  semper  festum  melos ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  243 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Do  you  observe  that  monk  among  the  train, 
Who  pours  from  his  great  throat  the  roaring 

bass, 

As  a  cathedral  spout  pours  out  the  rain, 
And  this  way  turns  his  rubicund,  round  face  ? 

ELSIE. 

It  is  the  same  who,  on  the  Strasburg  square, 
Preached  to  the  people  in  the  open  air. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

And  he  has  crossed  o'er  mountain,  field,  and 

fell, 
On  that  good  steed,  that  seems  to  bear  him 

well, 

The  hackney  of  the  Friars  of  Orders  Gray, 
His  own  stout  legs !    He,  too,  was  in  the  play, 
Both  as  King  Herod  and  Ben  Israel. 
Good  morrow,  Friar ! 

FRIAR    CUTHBERT. 

Good  morrow,  noble  Sir ! 


244  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

I  speak  in  German,  for,  unless  I  err, 
You  are  a  German. 

FRIAR    CUTHBERT. 

I  cannot  gainsay  you. 
But  by  what  instinct,  or  what  secret  sign, 
Meeting  me  here,  do  you  straightway  divine 
That  northward  of  the  Alps  my  country  lies  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Your   accent,  like    St.  Peter's,  would   betray 

you, 
Did   not   your   yellow   beard   and   your   blue 

eyes. 

Moreover,  we  have  seen  your  face  before, 
And  heard  you  preach  at  the  Cathedral  door 
On  Easter  Sunday,  in  the  Strasburg  square. 
We   were   among   the   crowd   that    gathered 

there, 

And  saw  you  play  the  Rabbi  with  great  skill, 
As  if,  by  leaning  o'er  so  many  years 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  245 

To  walk  with  little  children,  your  own  will 
Had  caught  a  childish  attitude  from  theirs, 
A  kind  of  stooping  in  its  form  and  gait, 
And  could  no  longer  stand  erect  and  straight. 
Whence  come  you  now  ? 

FRIAR    CUTHBERT. 

From  the  old  monastery 
Of  Hirschau,  in  the  forest ;  being  sent 
Upon  a  pilgrimage  to  Benevent, 
To  see  the  image  of  the  Virgin  Mary, 
That   moves   its    holy   eyes,    and   sometimes 

speaks, 
And    lets   the    piteous    tears   run    down   its 

cheeks, 
To  touch  the  hearts  of  the  impenitent. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

O,  had  I  faith,  as  in  the  days  gone  by, 

That  knew  no  doubt,  and  feared  no  mystery  ! 

LUCIFER,  at  a  distance. 
Ho,  Cuthbert!     Friar  Cuthbert! 


246  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

FRIAR  CUTHBERT. 

Farewell,  Prince ! 
I  cannot  stay  to  argue  and  convince. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

This  is  indeed  the  blessed  Mary's  land, 
Virgin  and  Mother  of  our  dear  Redeemer ! 
All  hearts   are   touched   and  softened  at  her 

•  name ; 

Alike  the  bandit,  with  the  bloody  hand, 
The  priest,  the  prince,  the  scholar,   and  the 

peasant, 

The  man  of  deeds,  the  visionary  dreamer, 
Pay  homage  to  her  as  one  ever  present ! 
And  even  as  children,  who  have  much  offended 
A  too  indulgent  father,  in  great  shame, 
Penitent,  and  yet  not  daring  unattended 
To  go  into  his  presence,  at  the  gate 
Speak  with  their  sister,  and  confiding  wait 
Till  she  goes  in  before  and  intercedes  ; 
So  men.  repenting  of  their  evil  deeds, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  247 

And  yet  not  venturing  rashly  to  draw  near 
With  their  requests  an  angry  father's  ear, 
Offer  to  her  their  prayers  and  their  confession, 
And   she   for   them   in    heaven   makes  inter 
cession. 

And  if  our  Faith  had  given  us  nothing  more 
Than  this  example  of  all  womanhood, 
So  mild,  so  merciful,  so  strong,  so  good, 
So  patient,  peaceful,  loyal,  loving,  pure, 
This  were  enough  to  prove  it  higher  and  truer 
Than  all  the   creeds   the  world   had   known 
before. 

PILGRIMS,  chaunting  afar  off. 

Urbs  coalestis,  urbs  beata, 

Supra  petram  collocata, 

Urbs  in  portu  satis  tuto 

De  longinquo  te  saluto, 

Te  saluto,  te  suspiro, 

Te  affecto,  te  require  ! 


248 


THE    INN    AT    GENOA. 


A  terrace  overlooking  the  sea.     Night. 
PRINCE    HENRY. 

IT  is  the  sea,  it  is  the  sea, 

In  all  its  vague  immensity, 

Fading  and  darkening  in  the  distance ! 

Silent,  majestical,  and  slow, 

The  white  ships  haunt  it  to  and  fro, 

With  all  their  ghostly  sails  unfurled, 

As  phantoms  from  another  world 

Haunt  the  dim  confines  of  existence ! 

But  ah !  how  few  can  comprehend 

Their  signals,  or  to  what  good  end 

From  land  to  land  they  come  and  go  ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  249 

Upon  a  sea  more  vast  and  dark 
The  spirits  of  the  dead  embark, 
All  voyaging  to  unknown  coasts. 
We  wave  our  farewells  from  the  shore, 
And  they  depart,  and  come  no  more, 
Or  come  as  phantoms  and  as  ghosts. 

Above  the  darksome  sea  of  death 

Looms  the  great  life  that  is  to  be, 

A  land  of  cloud  and  mystery, 

A  dim  mirage,  with  shapes  of  men 

Long  dead,  and  passed  beyond  our  ken. 

Awe-struck  we  gaze,  and  hold  our  breath 

Till  the  fair  pageant  vanisheth, 

Leaving  us  in  perplexity, 

And  doubtful  whether  it  has  been 

A  vision  of  the  world  unseen, 

Or  a  bright  image  of  our  own 

Against  the  sky  in  vapors  thrown. 


250  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

LUCIFER,  singing  from  the  sea. 
Thou    didst   not    make   it,   thou    canst    not 

mend  it, 

But  thou  hast  the  power  to  end  it ! 
The  sea  is  silent,  the  sea  is  discreet, 
Deep  it  lies  at  thy  very  feet ; 
There  is  no  confessor  like  unto  Death ! 
Thou  canst  not  see  him,  but  he  is  near  ; 
Thou  needest  not  whisper  above  thy  breath, 
And  he  will  hear ; 
He  will  answer  the  questions, 
The  vague  surmises  and  suggestions, 
That  fill  thy  soul  with  doubt  and  fear ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

The  fisherman,  who  lies  afloat, 
With  shadow^y  sail,  in  yonder  boat, 
Is  singing  softly  to  the  Night ! 
But  do  I  comprehend  aright 
The  meaning  of  the  words  he  sung 
So  sweetly  in  his  native  tongue  ? 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  251 

Ah,  yes !  the  sea  is  still  and  deep. 
All  things  within  its  bosom  sleep  ! 
A  single  step,  and  all  is  o'er ; 
A  plunge,  a  bubble,  and  no  more  ; 
And  thou,  dear  Elsie,  wilt  be  free 
From  martyrdom  and  agony. 

ELSIE,  coming  from  her  chamber  upon  the  terrace. 
The  night  is  calm  and  cloudless. 
And  still  as  still  can  be, 
And  the  stars  come  forth  to  listen 
To  the  music  of  the  sea. 
They  gather,  and  gather,  and  gather, 
Until  they  crowd  the  sky, 
And  listen,  in  breathless  silence, 

To  the  solemn  litany. 

\ 

It  begins  in  rocky  caverns, 
As  a  voice  that  chaurits  alone 
To  the  pedals  of  the  organ 
In  monotonous  undertone ; 
And  anon  from  shelving  beaches, 
And  shallow  sands  bevond, 


252  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

In  snow-white  robes  uprising 

The  ghostly  choirs  respond. 

And  sadly  and  unceasing 

The  mournful  voice  sings  on, 

And  the  snow-white  choirs  still  answer 

Christe  eleison ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Angel  of  God !  thy  finer  sense  perceives 

Celestial  and  perpetual  harmonies ! 

Thy  purer  soul,  that  trembles  and  believes, 

Hears  the  archangel's  trumpet  in  the  breeze, 

And  where  the  forest  rolls,  or  ocean  heaves, 

Cecilia's  organ  sounding  in  the  seas, 

And   tongues    of   prophets    speaking   in   the 

leaves. 

But  I  hear  discord  only  and  despair, 
And  whispers  as  of  demons  in  the  air ! 


253 


AT    SEA. 
IL    PADRONE. 

THE  wind  upon  our  quarter  lies, 
And  on  before  the  freshening  gale, 
That  fills  the  snow-white  lateen  sail, 
Swiftly  our  light  felucca  flies. 
Around,  the  billows  burst  and  foam ; 
They  lift  her  o'er  the  sunken  rock, 
They  beat  her  sides  with  many  a  shock, 
And  then  upon  their  flowing  dome 
They  poise  her,  like  a  weathercock ! 
Between  us  and  the  western  skies 
The  hills  of  Corsica  arise  ; 
Eastward,  in  yonder  long,  blue  line, 
The  summits  of  the  Apennine, 


254  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

And  southward,  and  still  far  away, 
Salerno,  on  its  sunny  bay. 
You  cannot  see  it,  where  it  lies. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Ah,  would  that  never  more  mine  eyes 
Might  see  its  towers  by  night  or  day  ! 

ELSIE. 

Behind  us,  dark  and  awfully, 
There  comes  a  cloud  out  of  the  sea, 
That  bears  the  form  of  a  hunted  deer, 
With  hide  of  brown,  and  hoofs  of  black, 
And  antlers  laid  upon  its  back, 
And  fleeing  fast  and  wild  with  fear, 
As  if  the  hounds  were  on  its  track  ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Lo  !  while  we  gaze,  it  breaks  and  falls 

In  shapeless  masses,  like  the  walls 

Of  a  burnt  city.     Broad  and  red 

The  fires  of  the  descending  sun 

Glare  through  the  windows,  and  o'erhead, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  255 

Athwart  the  vapors,  dense  and  dun, 
Long  shafts  of  silvery  light  arise, 
Like  rafters  that  support  the  skies ! 

ELSIE. 

See  !  from  its  summit  the  lurid  levin 
Flashes  downward  without  warning, 
As  Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning, 
Fell  from  the  battlements  of  heaven ! 

IL    PADRONE. 

I  must  entreat  you,  friends,  below ! 

The  angry  storm  begins  to  blow, 

For  the  weather  changes  with  the  moon. 

All  this  morning,  until  noon, 

We  had  baffling  winds,  and  sudden  flaws 

Struck  the  sea  with  their  cat's-paws. 

Only  a  little  hour  ago 

I  was  whistling  to  Saint  Antonio 

For  a  capful  of  wind  to  fill  our  sail, 

And  instead  of  a  breeze  he  has  sent  a  gale. 

Last  night  I  saw  Saint  Elmo's  stars, 


256  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

With  their  glimmering  lanterns,  all  at  play 
On  the  tops  of  the  masts  and  the  tips  of  the 

spars, 
And  I  knew  we    should   have   foul  weather 

to-day. 

Cheerly,  my  hearties !  yo  heave  ho ! 
Brail   up   the    mainsail,  and  let  her  go 
As  the  winds  will  and  Saint  Antonio ! 

Do  you  see  that  Livornese  felucca, 
That  vessel  to  the  windward  yonder, 
Running  with  her  gunwale  under  ? 
I  was  looking  when  the  wind  o'ertook  her. 
She  had  all  sail  set,  and  the  only  wonder 
Is,  that  at  once  the  strength  of  the  blast 
Did  not  carry  away  her  mast. 
She  is  a  galley  of  the  Gran  Duca, 
That,  through  the  fear  of  the  Algerines, 
Convoys  those  lazy  brigantines, 
Laden  with  wine  and  oil  from  Lucca. 


THE   GOLDEN    LEGEND.  257 

Now  all  is  ready,  high  and  low ; 
Blow,  blow,  good  Saint  Antonio ! 

Ha !  that  is  the  first  dash  of  the  rain, 
With  a  sprinkle  of  spray  above  the  rails, 
Just  enough  to  moisten  our  sails, 
And  make  them  ready  for  the  strain. 
See  how  she  leaps,  as  the  blasts  o'ertake  her, 
And  speeds  away  with  a  bone  in  her  mouth  ! 
Now  keep  her  head  toward  the  south, 
And  there  is  no  danger  of  bank  or  breaker. 
With  the  breeze  behind  us,  on  we  go  ; 
Not  too  much,  good  Saint  Antonio ! 


17 


VI 


261 


THE    SCHOOL    OF    SALERNO. 


A  travelling  Scholastic  affixing  his  Theses  to  the  gate  of 
the  College. 

SCHOLASTIC. 

THERE,  that  is  my  gauntlet,  my  banner,  my 

shield, 

Hung  up  as  a  challenge  to  all  the  field ! 
One  hundred  and  twenty-five  propositions, 
Which  I  will  maintain  with  the  sword  of  the 

tongue 

Against  all  disputants,  old  and  young. 
Let  us  see  if  doctors  or  dialecticians 
Will  dare  to  dispute  my  definitions, 
Or  attack  any  one  of  my  learned  theses. 
Here    stand   I ;    the    end    shall    be    as    God 

pleases. 


262  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

I  think  I  have  proved,  by  profound  researches, 
The  error  of  all  those  doctrines  so  vicious 
Of  the  old  Areopagite  Dionysius, 
That  are   making  such  terrible  work  in  the 

churches, 
By    Michael   the    Stammerer   sent   from   the 

East, 

And  done  into  Latin  by  that  Scottish  beast, 
Erigena  Johannes,  who  dares  to  maintain, 
In  the  face  of  the  truth,  the  error  infernal, 
That  the  universe  is  and  must  be  eternal ; 
At  first  laying  down,  as  a  fact  fundamental, 
That  nothing  with  God  can  be  accidental ; 
Then  asserting  that  God  before  the  creation 
Could  not  have  existed,  because  it  is  plain 
That,  had  he  existed,  he  would  have  created ; 
Which    is  begging  the  question  that  should 

be  debated, 

And  moveth  me  less  to  anger  than  laughter. 
All  nature,  he  holds,  is  a  respiration 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  263 

Of  the  Spirit  of  God,  who,  in  breathing,  here 
after 

Will  inhale  it  into  his  bosom  again, 

So  that  nothing  but  God  alone  will  remain. 

And  therein  he  contradicteth  himself; 

For  he  opens  the  whole  discussion  by  stating, 

That  God  can  only  exist  in  creating. 

That  question    I   think    I   have  laid   on   the 
shelf! 

He  goes  out.     Two  Doctors  come  in  disputing,  and  fol 
lowed  ly  pupils. 
DOCTOR    SERAFINO. 

I,  with  the  Doctor  Seraphic,  maintain, 

That  a  word  which  is  only  conceived  in  the 

brain 

Is  a  type  of  eternal  Generation ; 
The  spoken  word  is  the  Incarnation. 

DOCTOR    CHERUBINO. 

What  do  I  care  for  the  Doctor  Seraphic, 
With  all  his  wordy  chaffer  and  traffic  ? 


264  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

DOCTOR  SERAFINO. 

You  make  but  a  paltry  show  of  resistance ; 
Universals  have  no  real  existence! 

DOCTOR    CHERTJBINO. 

Your  words  are  but  idle  and  empty  chatter ; 
Ideas  are  eternally  joined  to  matter! 

DOCTOR    SERAFINO. 

May  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  your  position, 
You  wretched,  wrangling  culler  of  herbs  ! 

DOCTOR    CHERUBINO. 

May  he  send  your  soul  to  eternal  perdition, 
For  your  Treatise  on  the  Irregular  Verbs ! 
They  rush  out  fighting.     Two  Scholars  come  in. 

FIRST    SCHOLAR. 

Monte  Cassino,  then,  is  your  College. 
What  think  you  of  ours  here  at  Salern  ? 

SECOND    SCHOLAR. 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  arrived  so  lately, 
I  hardly  yet  have  had  time  to  discern. 
So  much,  at  least,  I  am  bound  to  acknowl 
edge  : 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  265 

The  air  seems  healthy,  the  buildings  stately, 
And  on  the  whole  I  like  it  greatly. 

FIRST    SCHOLAR. 

Yes,  the  air  is  sweet;  the  Calabrian  hills 
Send  us  down  puffs  of  mountain  air ; 
And  in  summer-time  the  sea-breeze  fills 
With   its    coolness    cloister,   and    court,    and 

square. 

Then  at  every  season  of  the  year 
There  are  crowds  of  guests  and  travellers  here ; 
Pilgrims,  and  mendicant  friars,  and  traders 
From  the  Levant,  with  figs  and  wine, 
And  bands  of  wounded  and  sick  Crusaders, 
Coming  back  from  Palestine. 

SECOND    SCHOLAR. 

And  what  are  the  studies  you  pursue  ? 
What  is  the  course  you  here  go  through  ? 

FIRST    SCHOLAR. 

The  first  three  years  of  the  college  course 
Are  given  to  Logic  alone,  as  the  source 
Of  all  that  is  noble,  and  wise,  and  true. 


266  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

SECOND    SCHOLAR. 

That  seems  rather  strange,  I  must  confess, 
In  a  Medical  School ;  yet,  nevertheless, 
Yom  doubtless  have  reasons  for  that. 

FIRST    SCHOLAR. 

O,  yes ! 

For  none  but  a  clever  dialectician 
Can  hope  to  become  a  great  physician ; 
That  has  been  settled  long  ago. 
Logic  makes  an  important  part 
Of  the  mystery  of  the  healing  art ; 
For  without  it  how  could  you  hope  to  show 
That  nobody  knows  so  much  as  you  know  ? 
After  this  there  are  five  years  more 
Devoted  wholly  to  medicine, 
With  lectures  on  chirurgical  lore, 
And  dissections  of  the  bodies  of  swine, 
As  likest  the  human  form  divine. 

SECOND    SCHOLAR. 

What  are  the  books  now  most  in  vogue  ? 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  267 

FIRST  SCHOLAR. 

Quite  an  extensive  catalogue  ; 

Mostly,  however,  books  of  our  own ; 

As  Gariopontus'  Passionarius, 

And  the  writings  of  Matthew  Platearius ; 

And  a*  volume  universally  known 

As  the  Regimen  of  the  School  of  Salern, 

For  Robert  of  Normandy  written  in  terse 

And  very  elegant  Latin  verse. 

Each  of  these  writings  has  its  turn. 

And  when  at  length  we  have  finished  these, 

Then  comes  the  struggle  for  degrees, 

With  all  the  oldest  and  ablest  critics ; 

The  public  thesis  and  disputation, 

Question,  and  answer,  and  explanation 

Of  a  passage  out  of  Hippocrates, 

Or  Aristotle's  Analytics. 

There  the  triumphant  Magister  stands ! 

A  book  is  solemnly  placed  in  his  hands, 

On  which  he  swears  to  follow  the  rule 


268  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

And  ancient  forms  of  the  good  old  School ; 
To  report  if  any  confectionarius 
Mingles  his  drugs  with  matters  various, 
And  to  visit  his  patients  twice  a  day, 
And  once  in  the  night,  if  they  live  in  town, 
And  if  they  are  poor,  to  take  no  pay. 
Having  faithfully  promised  these, 
His  head  is  crowned  with  a  laurel  crown ; 
A  kiss  on  his  cheek,  a  ring  on  his  hand, 
The  Magister  Artium  et  Physices 
Goes  forth  from  the  school  like  a  lord  of  the  land. 
And  now,  as  we  have  the  whole  morning  be 
fore  us, 

Let  us  go  in,  if  you  make  no  objection, 
And  listen  awhile  to  a  learned  prelection 
On  Marcus  Aurelius  Cassiodorus. 

They  go  in.     Enter  LUCIFER  as  a  Doctor.  . 

LUCIFER. 

This  is  the  great  School  of  Salern ! 
A  land  of  wrangling  and  of  quarrels, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  269 

Of  brains  that  seethe,  and  hearts  that  burn, 
Where  every  emulous  scholar  hears, 
In  every  breath  that  comes  to  his  ears, 
The  rustling  of  another's  laurels  ! 
The  air  of  the  place  is  called  salubrious  ; 
The  neighborhood  of  Vesuvius  lends  it 
An  odor  volcanic,  that  rather  mends  it, 
And  the  buildings  have  an  aspect  lugubrious, 
That  inspires  a  feeling  of  awe  and  terror 
Into  the  heart  of  the  beholder, 
And  befits  such  an  ancient  homestead  of  error, 
Where  the  old  falsehoods  moulder  and  smoul 
der, 

And  yearly  by  many  hundred  hands 
Are  carried  away,  in  the  zeal  of  youth, 
And  sown  like  tares  in  the  field  of  truth, 
To  blossom  and  ripen  in  other  lands. 

What  have  we  here,  affixed  to  the  gate  ? 
The  challenge  of  some  scholastic  wight, 


270  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Who  wishes  to  hold  a  public  debate 

On  sundry  questions  wrong  or  right ! 

Ah,  now  this  is  my  great  delight ! 

For  I  have  often  observed  of  late 

That  such  discussions  end  in  a  fight. 

Let  us  see  what  the  learned  wag  maintains 

With  such  a  prodigal  waste  of  brains. 

Reads. 

"  Whether  angels  in  moving  from  place  to  place 
Pass  through  the  intermediate  space. 
Whether  God  himself  is  the  author  of  evil, 
Or  whether  that  is  the  work  of  the  Devil. 
When,  where,  and  wherefore  Lucifer  fell, 
And  whether  he  now  is  chained  in  hell." 

I  think  I  can  answer  that  question  well ! 
So  long  as  the  boastful  human  mind 
Consents  in  such  mills  as  this  to  grind, 
I  sit  very  firmly  upon  my  throne ! 
Of  a  truth  it  almost  makes  me  laugh, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  271 

To  see  men  leaving  the  golden  grain 

To  gather  in  piles  the  pitiful  chaff 

That  old  Peter  Lombard  thrashed  with  his 

brain, 

To  have  it  caught  up  and  tossed  again 
On  the  horns  of  the  Dumb  Ox  of  Cologne ! 

But  my  guests  approach  !  there  is  in  the  air 

A  fragrance,  like  that  of  the  Beautiful  Garden 

Of  Paradise,  in  the  days  that  were ! 

An  odor  of  innocence,  and  of  prayer, 

And  of  love,  and  faith  that  never  fails, 

Such  as  the  fresh  young  heart  exhales 

Before  it  begins  to  wither  and  harden ! 

I  cannot  breathe  such  an  atmosphere  ! 

My  soul  is  filled  with  a  nameless  fear, 

That,  after  all  my  trouble  and  pain, 

After  all  my  restless  endeavor, 

The  youngest,  fairest  soul  of  the  twain, 

The  most  ethereal,  most  divine, 


272  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Will  escape  from  my  hands  for  ever  and  ever. 

But  the  other  is  already  mine ! 

Let  him  live  to  corrupt  his  race, 

Breathing  among  them,  with  every  breath, 

Weakness,  selfishness,  and  the  base 

And  pusillanimous  fear  of  death. 

I  know  his  nature,  and  I  know 

That  of  all  who  in  my  ministry 

Wander  the  great  earth  to  and  fro, 

And  on  my  errands  come  and  go, 

The  safest  and  subtlest  are  such  as  he. 

Enter  PRINCE  HENRY  and  ELSIE,  with  attendants. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Can  you  direct  us  to  Friar  Angelo  ? 

LUCIFER. 

He  stands  before  you. 

PRINCE     HENRY. 

Then  you  know  our  purpose. 
I  am  Prince  Henry  of  Hoheneck,  and  this 
The  maiden  that  I  spake  of  in  my  letters. 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  273 

LUCIFER. 

It  is  a  very  grave  and  solemn  business ! 
We  must  not  be  precipitate.     Does  she 
Without  compulsion,  of  her  own  free  will, 
Consent  to  this  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Against  all  opposition, 

Against  all  prayers,  entreaties,  protestations. 
She  will  not  be  persuaded. 

LUCIFER. 

That  is  strange ! 
Have  you  thought  well  of  it  ? 

ELSIE. 

I  come  not  here 

•To  argue,  but  to  die.     Your  business  is  not 
To  question,  but  to  kill  me.     I  am  ready. 
I  am  impatient  to  be  gone  from  here 
Ere  any  thoughts  of  earth  disturb  again 
The  spirit  of  tranquillity  within  me. 
18 


274  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

PRINCE  HENRY. 

Would  I  had  not  come  here !     Would  I  were 

dead, 

And  thou  wert  in  thy  cottage  in  the  forest, 
And  hadst  not  known  me !     Why  have  I  done 

this? 
Let  me  go  back  and  die. 

ELSIE. 

It  cannot  be ; 

Not  if  these  cold,  flat  stones  on  which  we  tread 
Were  coulters  heated  white,  and  yonder  gate 
way 

Flamed  like  a  furnace  with  a  sevenfold  heat. 
I  must  fulfil  my  purpose. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

I  forbid  it ! 

Not  one  step  farther.     For  I  only  meant 
To  put  thus  far  thy  courage  to  the  proof. 
It  is  enough.     I,  too,  have  courage  to  die, 
For  thou  hast  taught  me ! 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  275 

ELSIE. 

O  my  Prince!  remember 
Your  promises.     Let  me  fulfil  my  errand. 
You  do  not  look  on  life  and  death  as  I  do. 
There  are  two  angels,  that  attend  unseen 
Each  one  of  us,  and  in  great  books  record 
Our   good  and   evil  deeds.      He  who  writes 

down 

The  good  ones,  after  every  action  closes 
His  volume,  and  ascends  with  it  to  God. 
The  other  keeps  his  dreadful  day-book  open 
Till  sunset,  that  we  may  repent ;  which  doing, 
The  record  of  the  action  fades  away, 
And  leaves  a  line  of  white  across  the  page. 
Now  if  my  act  be  good,  as  I  believe  it, 
It  cannot  be  recalled.     It  is  already 
Sealed  up  in  heaven,  as  a  good  deed  accom 
plished. 

The  rest  is  yours.     Why  wait  you?     I  am 
ready. 


276  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

To  her  attendants. 

Weep  not,  my  friends!  rather  rejoice  with  me. 
I  shall  not  feel  the  pain,  but  shall  be  gone, 
And  you  will  have  another  friend  in  heaven. 
Then  start  not  at  the  creaking  of  the  door 
Through  which  I  pass.     I  see  what  lies  be 
yond  it. 

To  PRINCE  HENRY. 

And  you,  O  Prince !  bear  back  my  benison 
Unto  my  father's  house,  and  all  within  it. 
This  morning  in  the  church  I  prayed  for  them, 
After  confession,  after  absolution, 
When  my  whole  soul  was  white,  I  prayed  for 

them. 

God  will  take  care  of  them,  they  need  me  not. 
And  in  your  life  let  my  remembrance  linger, 
As  something  not  to  trouble  and  disturb  it, 
But  to  complete  it,  adding  life  to  life. 
And  if  at  times  beside  the  evening  fire 
You  see  my  face  among  the  other  faces, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  277 

Let  it  not  be  regarded  as  a  ghost 

That  haunts  your  house,  but  as  a  guest  that 

loves  you. 

Nay,  even  as  one  of  your  own  family, 
Without  whose  presence  there  were  something 

wanting. 
I  have  no  more  to  say.     Let  us  go  in. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Friar  Angelo !  I  charge  you  on  your  life, 
Believe  not  what  she  says,  for  she  is  mad, 
And  comes  here  not  to  die,  but  to  be  healed. 

ELSIE. 

Alas  !  Prince  Henry ! 

LUCIFER. 

Come  with  me  ;  this  way. 

ELSIE  goes  in  with  LUCIFER,  who  thrusts  PRINCE  HENRY 
back  and  closes  the  door. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Gone !  and  the  light  of  all  my  life  gone  with 
her! 


278 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 


A  sudden  darkness  falls  upon  the  world ! 

O,  what  a  vile  and  abject  thing  am  I, 

That  purchase  length  of  days  at  such  a  cost ! 

Not  by  her  death  alone,  but  by  the  death 

Of  all  that 's  good  and  true  and  noble  in  me ! 

All  manhood,  excellence,  and  self-respect, 

All  love,  and  faith,  and  hope,  and  heart  are 

dead! 

All  my  divine  nobility  of  nature 
By  this  one  act  is  forfeited  for  ever. 
I  am  a  Prince  in  nothing  but  in  name ! 
To  the  attendants.  • 

Why  did  you  let  this  horrible  deed  be  done  ? 
Why  did  you  not  lay  hold  on  her,  and  keep  her 
From  self-destruction  ?     Angelo  !  murderer ! 
Struggles  at  the  door,  but  cannot  open  it. 

ELSIE  within. 
Farewell,  dear  Prince!  farewell! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Unbar  the  door ! 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.  279 

LUCIFER. 

It  is  too  late ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

It  shall  not  be  too  late ! 
They  burst  the  door  open  and  rush  in. 


280 


THE    COTTAGE    IN    THE    ODENWALD. 


URSULA  spinning.     Summer  afternoon.     A  table  spread. 
URSULA. 

I  HAVE  marked  it  well,  —  it  must  be  true,  — 

Death  never  takes  one  alone,  but  two ! 

Whenever  he  enters  in  at  a  door, 

Under  roof  of  gold  or  roof  of  thatch, 

He  always  leaves  it  upon  the  latch, 

Arid  comes  again  ere  the  year  is  o'er. 

Never  one  of  a  household  only ! 

Perhaps  it  is  a  mercy  of  God, 

Lest  the  dead  there  under  the  sod, 

In  the  land  of  strangers,  should  be  lonely ! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  281 

Ah  me !  I  think  I  am  lonelier  here  ! 
It  is  hard  to  go,  —  but  harder  to  stay  ! 
Were  it  not  for  the  children,  I  should  pray 
That  Death  would  take  me  within  the  year! 
And  Gottlieb !  —  he  is  at  work  all  day, 
In  the  sunny  field,  or  the  forest  murk, 
But  I  know  that  his  thoughts  are  far  away, 
I  know  that  his  heart  is  not  in  his  work ! 
And  when  he  comes  home  to  me  at  night 
He  is  not  cheery,  but  sits  and  sighs, 
And  I  see  the  great  tears  in  his  eyes, 
And  try  to  be  cheerful  for  his  sake. 
Only  the  children's  hearts  are  light. 
Mine  is  weary,  and  ready  to  break. 
God  help  us !     I  hope  we  have  done  right ; 
We  thought  we  were  acting  for  the  best ! 

Looking  through  the  open  door. 
Who  is  it  coming  under  the  trees  ? 
A  man,  in  the  Prince's  livery  dressed  ! 
He  looks  about  him  with  doubtful  face, 


282  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

As  if  uncertain  of  the  place. 
He  stops  at  the  beehives ;  —  now  he  sees 
The  garden  gate ;  —  he  is  going  past ! 
Can  he  be  afraid  of  the  bees  ? 
No ;  he  is  coming  in  at  last ! 
He  fills  my  heart  with  strange  alarm  ! 
Enter  a  Forester. 

FORESTER. 

Is  this  the  tenant  Gottlieb's  farm  ? 

URSULA. 

This  is  his  farm,  and  I  his  wife. 

Pray  sit.     What  may  your  business  be  ? 

FORESTER. 

News  from  the  Prince  ! 

URSULA. 

Of  death  or  life  ? 

FORESTER. 

You  put  your  questions  eagerly ! 

URSULA. 
Answer  me,  then  !     How  is  the  Prince  ? 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 
FORESTER. 

I  left  him  only  two  hours  since 
Homeward  returning  down  the  river, 
As  strong  and  well  as  if  God,  the  Giver, 
Had  given  him  back  his  youth  again. 

URSULA,  despairing. 
Then  Elsie,  my  poor  child,  is  dead  ! 

FORESTER. 

That,  my  good  woman,  I  have  not  said. 
Do  n't  cross  the  bridge  till  you  come  to  it, 
Is  a  proverb  old,  and  of  excellent  wit. 

URSULA. 

Keep  me  no  longer  in  this  pain ! 

FORESTER. 

l 

It  is  true  your  daughter  is  no  more  ;  — 
That  is,  the  peasant  she  was  before. 

URSULA. 

Alas !  I  am  simple  and  lowly  bred, 

I  am  poor,  distracted,  and  forlorn. 

And  it  is  not  well  that  you  of  the  court 


284  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Should  mock  me  thus,  and  make  a  sport 
Of  a  joyless  mother  whose  child  is  dead, 
For  you,  too,  were  of  mother  born! 

FORESTER. 

Your  daughter  lives,  and  the  Prince  is  well ! 

You  will  learn  ere  long  how  it  all  befell. 

Her  heart  for  a  moment  never  failed ; 

But  when  they  reached  Salerno's  gate, 

The  Prince's  nobler  self  prevailed, 

And  saved  her  for  a  nobler  fate. 

And  he  was  healed,  in  his  despair, 

By  the  touch  of  St.  Matthew's  sacred  bones ; 

Though  I  think  the  long  ride  in  the  opcMi  air, 

That  pilgrimage  over  stocks  and  stones, 

In  the  miracle  must  come  in  for  a  share ! 

URSULA. 

Virgin  !  who  lovest  the  poor  and  lonely, 
If  the  loud  cry  of  a  mother's  heart 
Can  ever  ascend  to  where  thou  art, 
Into  thy  blessed  hands  and  holy 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  285 

Receive  my  prayer  of  praise  and  thanksgiving! 
Let  the  hands  that  bore  our  Saviour  bear  it 
Into  the  awful  presence  of  God ; 
For  thy  feet  with  holiness  are  shod, 
And  if  thou  bearest  it  he  will  hear  it. 
Our  child  who  was  dead  again  is  living ! 

FORESTER. 

I  did  not  tell  you  she  was  dead  ; 

If  you  thought  so  't  was  no  fault  of  mine ; 

At  this  very  moment,  while  I  speak, 

They  are  sailing  homeward  down  the  Rhine, 

In  a  splendid  barge,  with  golden  prow, 

And  decked  with  banners  white  and  red 

As  the  colors  on  your  daughter's  cheek. 

They  call  her  the  Lady  Alicia  now ; 

For  the  Prince  in  Salerno  made  a  vow 

That  Elsie  only  would  he  wed. 

URSULA. 

Jesu  Maria !  what  a  change  ! 

All  seems  to  me  so  weird  and  strange ! 


286          THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 
FORESTER. 

1  saw  her  standing  on  the  deck, 

Beneath  an  awning  cool  and  shady ; 

Her  cap  of  velvet  could  not  hold 

The  tresses  of  her  hair  of  gold, 

That  flowed  and  floated  like  the  stream, 

And  fell  in  masses  down  her  neck. 

As  fair  and  lovely  did  she  seem 

As  in  a  story  or  a  dream 

Some  beautiful  and  foreign  lady. 

And  the  Prince  looked  so  grand  and  proud, 

And  waved  his  hand  thus  to  the  crowd 

That  gazed  and  shouted  from  the  shore, 

Ah1  down  the  river,  long  and  loud. 

URSULA. 

We  shall  behold  our  child  once  more ; 
She  is  not  dead !     She  is  not  dead ! 
God,  listening,  must  have  overheard 
The  prayers,  that,  without  sound  or  word, 
Our  hearts  in  secrecy  have  said! 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  287 

O,  bring  me  to  her ;  for  mine  eyes 
Are  hungry  to  behold  her  face ; 
My  very  soul  within  me  cries ; 
My  very  hands  seem  to  caress  her, 
To  see  her,  gaze  at  her,  and  bless  her ; 
Dear  Elsie,  child  of  God  and  grace  ! 
Goes  out  toward  the  garden. 

FORESTER. 

There  goes  the  good  woman  out  of  her  head ; 

And  Gottlieb's  supper  is  waiting  here ; 

A  very  capacious  flagon  of  beer, 

And  a  very  portentous  loaf  of  bread. 

One  would  say  his  grief  did  not  much  op 
press  him. 

Here  's  to  the  health  of  the  Prince,  God  bless 
him! 

He  drinks. 

Ha!  it  buzzes  and  stings  like  a  hornet! 

And  what  a  scene  there,  through  the  door ! 

The  forest  behind  and  the  garden  before, 


288  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

And  midway  an  old  man  of  threescore. 
With  a  wife  and  children  that  caress  him. 
Let  me  try  still  further  to  cheer  and  adorn  it 
With  a  merry,  echoing  blast  of  my  cornet ! 
Goes  out  blowing  his  horn. 


289 


THE    CASTLE    OF    VATJTSBERG    ON    THE    RHINE. 


PRINCE   HENRY   and   ELSIE   standing  on   the   terrace  at 
evening.      The  sound  of  bells  heard  from  a  distance. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

WE  are  alone.     The  wedding  guests 
Ride  down  the  hill,  with  plumes  and  cloaks, 
And  the  descending  dark  invests 
The  Niederwald,  and  all  the  nests 
Among  its  hoar  and  haunted  oaks. 

ELSIE. 

What  bells  are  those,  that  ring  so  slow, 
So  mellow,  musical,  and  low  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

They  are  the  bells  of  Geisenheim, 
That  with  their  melancholy  chime 
Ring  out  the  curfew  of  the  sun. 


290  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

ELSIE. 

Listen,  beloved. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

They  are  done ! 
Dear  Elsie !  many  years  ago 
Those  same  soft  bells  at  eventide 
Rang  in  the  ears  of  Charlemagne, 
As,  seated  by  Fastrada's  side 
At  Ingelheim,  in  all  his  pride 
He  heard  their  sound  with  secret  pain. 

ELSIE. 

Their  voices  only  speak  to  me 
Of  peace  and  deep  tranquillity, 
And  endless  confidence  in  thee ! 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Thou  knowest  the  story  of  her  ring, 
How,  when  the  court  went  back  to  Aix, 
Fastrada  died  ;  and  how  the  king 
Sat  watching  by  her  night  and  day, 
Till  into  one  of  the  blue  lakes, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  291 

That  water  that  delicious  land, 

They  cast  the  ring,  drawn  from  her  hand  ; 

And  the  great  monarch  sat  serene 

And  sad  beside  the  fated  shore, 

Nor  left  the  land  for  ever  more. 

ELSIE. 

That  was  true  love. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

For  him  the  queen 
Ne'er  did  what  thou  hast  done  for  me. 

ELSIE. 

Wilt  thou  as  fond  and  faithful  be  ? 
Wilt  thou  so  love  me  after  death  ? 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

In  life's  delight,  in  death's  dismay, 
In  storm  and  sunshine,  night  and  day, 
In  health,  in  sickness,  in  decay, 
Here  and  hereafter,  I  am  thine ! 
Thou  hast  Fastrada's  ring.     Beneath 
The  calm,  blue  waters  of  thine  eyes 


292  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Deep  in  thy  steadfast  soul  it  lies, 
And,  undisturbed  by  this  world's  breath, 
With  magic  light  its  jewels  shine  ! 
This  golden  ring,  which  thou  hast  worn 
Upon  thy  finger  since  the  morn, 
Is  but  a  symbol  and  a  semblance, 
An  outward  fashion,  a  remembrance, 
Of  what  thou  wearest  within  unseen, 
O  my  Fastrada,  O  my  queen ! 
Behold !  the  hill-tops  all  aglow 
With  purple  and  with  amethyst ; 
While  the  whole  valley  deep  below 
Is  filled,  and  seems  to  overflow, 
With  a  fast-rising  tide  of  mist. 
The  evening  air  grows  damp  and  chill ; 
Let  us  go  in. 

ELSIE. 

Ah,  not  so  soon- 
See  yonder  fire  !     It  is  the  moon 
Slow  rising  o'er  the  eastern  hill. 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  293 

It  glimmers  on  the  forest  tips, 

And  through  the  dewy  foliage  drips 

In  little  rivulets  of  light, 

And  makes  the  heart  in  love  with  night. 

PRINCE    HENRY. 

Oft  on  this  terrace,  when  the  day 
Was  closing,  have  I  stood  and  gazed, 
And  seen  the  landscape  fade  away, 
And  the  white  vapors  rise  and  drown 
Hamlet  and  vineyard,  tower  and  town, 
While  far  above  the  hill-tops  blazed. 
But  then  another  hand  than  thine 
Was  gently  held  and  clasped  in  mine  ; 
Another  head  upon  my  breast 
Was  laid,  as  thine  is  now,  at  rest. 
Why  dost  thou  lift  those  tender  eyes 
With  so  much  sorrow  and  surprise  ? 
A  minstrel's,  not  a  maiden's  hand, 
Was  that  which  in  my  own  was  pressed. 
A  manly  form  usurped  thy  place, 


294  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

A  beautiful,  but  bearded  face, 
That  now  is  in  the  Holy  Land, 
Yet  in  my  memory  from  afar 
Is  shining  on  us  like  a  star. 
But  linger  not.     For  while  I  speak, 
A  sheeted  spectre  white  and  tall, 
The  cold  mist  climbs  the  castle  wall, 
And  lays  his  hand  upon  thy  cheek ! 
They  go  in. 


EPILOGUE. 


297 


THE    TWO    RECORDING    ANGELS    ASCENDING. 


THE    ANGEL    OF    GOOD    DEEDS,   with  dosed  book. 

GOD  sent  his  messenger  the  rain, 
And  said  unto  the  mountain  brook, 
"  Rise  up,  and  from  thy  caverns  look 
And  leap,  with  naked,  snow-white  feet, 
From  the  cool  hills  into  the  heat 
Of  the  broad,  arid  plain." 

God  sent  his  messenger  of  faith, 
And  whispered  in  the  maiden's  heart, 
"  Rise  up,  and  look  from  where  thou  art, 
And  scatter  with  unselfish  hands 
Thy  freshness  on  the  barren  sands 
And  solitudes  of  Death." 


298  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

O  beauty  of  holiness, 

Of  self-forgetfulness,  of  lowliness ! 

O  power  of  meekness, 

Whose  very  gentleness  and  weakness 

Are  like  the  yielding,  but  irresistible  air ! 

Upon  the  pages 

Of  the  sealed  volume  that  I  bear, 

The  deed  divine 

Is  written  in  characters  of  gold, 

That  never  shall  grow  old, 

But  through  all  ages 

Burn  and  shine, 

With  soft  effulgence ! 

O  God !  it  is  thy  indulgence 

That  fills  the  world  with  the  bliss 

Of  a  good  deed  like  this ! 

THE   ANGEL    OF    EVIL    DEEDS,    with  open  book. 

Not  yet,  not  yet 

Is  the  red  sun  wholly  set, 

But  evermore  recedes, 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  299 

While  open  still  I  bear 

The  Book  of  Evil  Deeds, 

To  let  the  breathings  of  the  upper  air 

Visit  its  pages  and  erase 

The  records  from  its  face ! 

Fainter  and  fainter  as  I  gaze 

In  the  broad  blaze 

The  glimmering  landscape  shines, 

And  below  me  the  black  river 

Is  hidden  by  wreaths  of  vapor ! 

Fainter  and  fainter  the  black  lines 

Begin  to  quiver 

Along  the  whitening  surface  of  the  paper ; 

Shade  after  shade 

The  terrible  words  grow  faint  and  fade, 

And  in  their  place 

Runs  a  white  space ! 

Down  goes  the  sun ! 
But  the  soul  of  one, 


300  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND. 

Who  by  repentance 

Has  escaped  the  dreadful  sentence, 

Shines  bright  below  me  as  I  look. 

It  is  the  end! 

With  closed  Book 

To  God  do  I  ascend. 

Lo !  over  the  mountain  steeps 

A  dark,  gigantic  shadow  sweeps 

Beneath  my  feet ; 

A  blackness  inwardly  brightening 

With  sullen  hea,t, 

As  a  storm-cloud  lurid  with  lightning. 

And  a  cry  of  lamentation, 

Repeated  and  again  repeated, 

Deep  and  loud 

As  the  reverberation 

Of  cloud  answering  unto  cloud, 

Swells  and  rolls  away  in  the  distance, 

As  if  the  sheeted 


THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND.  301 

Lightning  retreated, 

Baffled  and  thwarted  by  the  wind's  resistance. 

It  is  Lucifer, 

The  son  of  mystery; 

And  since  God  suffers  him  to  be, 

He,  too,  is  God's  minister, 

And  labors  for  some  good 

By  us  not  understood ! 


THE    END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


REC'O  LD 


26  1961 


OCT  2  8 1998 


MAR  1 7  1904 


LD  21A-50m-4,'59 
(A1724slO)476B 


General  Librar 
University  of  Calif 
Berkeley 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


General  Library     . 
University  of  California 
Berkeley 


